


Four Seasons

by Bingothefarmersdog



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caduceus is a precious little cinnamon roll and I love him, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff and Smut, Impregnation, Knotting, Multiple Orgasms, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon, Ritual Sex, Trans Friendly Caduceus, Unusual Genitals, Virgin Caduceus Clay, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 12:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bingothefarmersdog/pseuds/Bingothefarmersdog
Summary: Before Caduceus met the Nein, before Caduceus left his home behind, he had another very important visitor.The Wildmother...and she’s come with a request...





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Visit In The Garden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764796) by [pastelNothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelNothing/pseuds/pastelNothing). 

> I was inspired by this fic, which is very lovely, and you all Need to read it...but so far it hasn’t been finished...
> 
> So while my idea has an extremely similar beginning, from there it’s all my own weird ideas. Please go read the other fic if you haven’t yet, because I’m giving it all the credit here, and it really is a very lovely work. 
> 
> The way I see it, there’s room in this creative little fandom of ours for two stories wearing the same prom dress, and I’m just hoping I have enough trim to make my outfit a little different in the end. 
> 
> All the love and kisses, thank you for a beautiful idea pastelNothing, and I hope you finish it <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Listen my child, " you say to me "I am the voice of your history. Be not afraid, come follow me. Answer my call and I'll set you free._
> 
> _“I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone. The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow. Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long. I am the force that in springtime will grow.”_
> 
> [The Voice](https://youtu.be/xStj_keOMSM), by Celtic Woman.

Caduceus woke up with first light of morning, blinking up at the stone masonry of the temple above his head, and knew it was a Winter Morning.

That was odd.

He’d been expecting Spring to begin any time now, bringing the first touch of rain, soft breezes, and gently budding green leaves. Sometimes the season days could be undeniably finicky, changing their mind several times a day about their shape, and those days were a world of trouble to accommodate or just accomplish anything in general. But no day—even a Halfway day—had ever been this tardy...Spring was just plain late...

Usually he would have seen at least something like it by now. If not Spring itself, maybe a Last-Days-of-Winter day, or Definitely-Spring-Tomorrow day. But still...every morning he knew quite certainly that it was a winter morning. The most obnoxiously winter morning he’d ever seen, loudly insistent about its season.

It was odd, but after all, there was very little use in arguing with the days about which season they belonged to. They were what they were, and there was no point in trying to make them change. He just had to wait...spring would show up eventually, and Caduceus was good at waiting...

The firbolg stretched slowly, a series of cracks and pops running down his body, as he yawned widely. But he couldn’t get up. It wasn’t right for some reason. Then he frowned in puzzlement, realizing the true predicament in front of him...it was a winter morning, yes. But that was all.

Some days could be bold as brass about their shape, making themselves known almost before he woke. Washing days, or Gathering days, or Cleaning days, or even Sit-Around-and-Do-Nothing days. But this day was a Not-Anything-In-Particular day. Huh...

Now that was really odd.

It didn’t feel right to lay in bed all day, that wasn’t right...but it didn’t feel right to get up either. Knitting? No. Gardening? No, it was still winter. Clear moss off the grave stones so the names were visible, like he’d been meaning to? No, that was the least right thing of all. Blinking off sleep, he even scratched behind his left ear as a last resort...sometimes a good ear scratch could brush away the cobwebs like nothing else could.

Still nothing. It was starting to make him jittery. This was getting truly alarming! Upsetting his orderly day to day rhythm, each thing coming in its time, each day cozy snug with its own Doing and Thinking. This was a day of Nothing at all, no right, no clear, no sense. Just...empty...

Then a droplet of melting dew _plicked_ against the stone windowsill above his bed, clear in the silence.

And he knew what the day was.

It was a Waiting day. Of course! How could he not have noticed? It was so quiet, breathless almost, still to the point of deafening. Those were always Waiting days. But it had been so long since the last one: a crisp afternoon almost two seasons ago, at the beginning of Fall. He’d almost forgotten them.

That was alarming indeed. The Waiting days were important, special, and to loose track of them—to not be ready for them—was almost the most alarming thing of all. And he’d been alarmed by a good deal lately. The briars creeping in on the edge of his orderly haven, the summer days growing dingy, the way birds migrated for the winter and every spring fewer of them came back. He’d been growing quietly afraid for a good long time now, settling into his bones like an unwholesome mist, while he watched with worry and waited with apprehension because that was all he could do.

One voice wasn’t enough to fill up the silence anymore.

But that wasn’t the right way to be thinking at all! Not on a Waiting day! For shame, that was just bending the day out of it’s proper shape. This wasn’t a Worrying day, wasn’t a Doubting day, wasn’t a Thinking day, it was a Waiting day. A Preparation day. And if he wasn’t ready, body and soul, then he would have more harm than help to offer when the waiting was done.

He had work to be doing! The waiting was begun, and the Waiting days never said how long it was to be. He might have hours, or only minutes. So best to do what he could while the Waiting was still here. While he still had time.

Caduceus rolled out of bed, and surveyed his small chest of personal possessions. It didn’t feel like armor would be fitting so he left it alone, dressing quickly in a simple pair of trousers—warm ones because it was still a winter day after all—and a loose silky shirt and a thick fuzzy wrapper. Not fur, of course, that would be just awful; but a heavy knit made of wool from the tall reedy plants that he could find in the woods without venturing too far.

He didn’t know their scientific name, but every fall their heavy tops would burst and send thick wads of fluff flying through the woods. Picking out the seeds was a world of work, but it made a nice woolly material, and he’d saved up enough of it to make a truly enormous coat that bundled him up from head to toe.

Shrugging this on, Caduceus went about his business. Waiting days had a certain order, to make the most of the time, and the firbolg set about tidying the temple first. Not a Spring Clean because, well, it wasn’t spring yet, but enough. Even if he was caught too soon, with cold stone, and an empty teapot, he would still have everything clean. He dusted all the windowsills, brushing off damp and dirt, made his bed and plumped all the pillows, changed out the muddy mat by the door, and rearranged his scanty dishes on his scanty shelf because that just seemed proper in the moment.

Tea would most certainly be next. Even if he had nothing else, warm tea by a warm fire was always the best policy. It couldn’t heal of course, couldn’t dry eyes, couldn’t mint smiles, but it helped. So he picked his way through the dry and frosted gravestones to find the creek at the back of the garden. It wasn’t cold enough to be frozen over, thank the Mother, but it was chilly enough to make the kettle icy in his hands once it was full. With a full kettle in hand, Caduceus brought the pot back and set about mending the ashes of last night’s fire to heat with, and finally settled the water over a modestly growing blaze.

After that was a series of small tasks, each one requiring little thought. He had no chairs, so he set out basket mats to make comfortable places on the floor. Biscuits would go well with the tea, so he pulled out the little wooden box where they were kept, wishing they weren’t so stale...but he had no flour to make more. He could dress them though, and he brought out his last jar of summer honey with a pang of regret to have it used up. With these little matters arranged, Caduceus turned to the last one with a heavy heart, knowing that he had been putting it off.

The grave.

Solemn and reverent, he ambled back out into the frost to look over his garden. There might be some space by the Meglens, or maybe Lady Ylara...or even the empty plot under the apple tree, though he had been saving it in the hopes of cultivating another branch of the vegetable garden if anything would consent to grow there. But this was important. The graves mattered more than his small concerns, and he would give up his plans if that meant the graves were as they should be. It was right.

With this decided, his prospective patches marked, he went back inside. And this was the not so nice part of Waiting. When the it had gone on long enough for Caduceus to be ready, but also went on so that he no longer had anything to fill the Waiting. The kettle wasn’t boiling yet, and even if it was, he might have to keep it simmering for hours yet. Everything else was as tidy perfect as it could be, and there was no point in making further preparations until he knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Best make his mind ready then. Sometimes that was helpful, when the Waiting came to an end. Having a clear mind alleviated at least one kind of pain. Just like the tea, he couldn’t stop tears, and couldn’t command laughter, but his calm might help. Peace always helped.

Usually he prayed behind his temple, or in front of the fire as the flames danced and soothed him. But today was a Waiting day, and that formed everything else, so he went to the front door of his temple. He must be ready.

It was cool and quiet on the temple’s front step, and there he settled, tucking his legs up and sighing contentedly. Yes indeed. This was the right place to pray today. Closing his eyes, he let it take him. The woods were largely stillness, but that just made the little things all the more important. The chill of stone beneath his pretzeled legs, the serene emptiness, the sky of pewter gray...

And cold.

The kiss of chilly water on the tip of his nose made him stifle a sneeze, ears twitching with surprise. Flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Winter indeed. Caduceus smiled, holding out his hand to catch the first flakes, before settling into his former attitude. Listening to the utter silence with his eyes closed, there was a whisper in it, a rustle of snow against frost. More touches of chill caressed his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips, and he smiled into it, contentedly getting snowed on until his hair was damp.

The kettle sang.

It brought Caduceus out of his meditation, blinking to himself to discover he had become quite furry with snow. Thankfully his wrapper was thick, and he was plump with his winter coat besides, his fur additionally thick and fuzzy. The cold didn’t bother him yet, but tea did sound nice, even if it was technically early to steep a cup. A little tea never hurt anyone.

He ambled back into the temple, after shaking off the snowflakes that had gathered to festoon him. This was always his favorite thing to do. Yes, drinking the tea was pleasant, but getting to prepare it added a special sweetness to his soul. A balance. Something he was good at, perfect even, that always turned out how he needed.

After a long and careful deliberation, the firbolg selected the Vespers. He’d always been partial to their blend. Nice and spicy, like breathing in a cinnamon stick, but with deep fruity tones underneath. They were tricky to steep right, treacherous, choosy, which provided an additional level of exciting challenge. A cup from the Vesper family would be just the thing.

Carefully, Caduceus spooned two full (but not heaping!) scoops of loosely ground leaves into the strainer, and set the mesh basket over the opening of the pottery mug. That was important. It had to be ceramic, or the Vespers just wouldn’t have it. Then he pulled the kettle off the fire, waiting for just the right moment. That was important too, because the water couldn’t be boiling but couldn’t be too cold, or the taste would go wrong. With a jump at the right moment, Caduceus carefully let water stream through the basket of leaves into the mug, going slow, but not too slow. And that was the most important thing of all, because the Vespers just wouldn’t steep, and you had to get enough flavor without letting it soak.

He could tell he’d done it right as soon as he replaced the kettle over the fire, and removed the used basket of tealeaves. The steam wafting from the cup almost smiled with beatitude, curling tantalizing and oh so right through the air. Caduceus grinned softly, picking up the mug and holding it mittened between his oversized hands, trapping the warmth in. Carefully, so reverently, he sipped lightly, allowing the first golden notes of spicy sweetness to spread across his tongue.

Absolutely perfect.

He sighed with it, smiling wide and fulfilled. This day could not be going more perfectly. The fire was blazing well, the kettle was making a low rumbling hiss that meant it would be boiling again soon, his temple was clean, and he’d made the perfect cup of tea. If he’d found himself in heaven, this one Waiting day could not have gone more perfectly.

And about to grow more perfect still, because he made it back to the temple door, and saw who he’d been Waiting for.

They—he couldn’t see their gender because they were in such shadow—were standing motionless at the end of the garden under the first leaves of the forest. A silent but towering shape of darkness. The snow fell around them unheeded, as if they were completely indifferent to the cold, but Caduceus couldn’t help shivering on their behalf, just thinking of the chill.

He made no greeting, because there didn’t seem to be a need for one, and because they had offered no acknowledgement in answer. But he knew that they were looking at each other all the same, his skin shuddering under the unseen gaze like a horse shakes off flies. For a moment everything was so incredibly still that it made him jump when his ear twitched out of the corner of his eye, shaking with unconscious curiosity before he could still himself.

That instinctive gesture broke the stalemate however, and as Caduceus looked back at his visitor, they stepped out of the trees and approached at a slow heavy pace.

They were a woman. Or not quite a woman. Feminine in figure, but very foreign in every other sense. She was spindly slender, and taller even than Caduceus. Parts of her skin: the smooth plane of her abdomen, the luscious and completely exposed peak of her breasts, the column of her throat, the slender chiseled lines of her inhumanly angular face, looked at least partially humanoid and pale brown like the soft inner core of branches beneath the bark.

But the similarities ended there. Her stomach disappeared into legs that were long, thin and knotted like woven vines that shifted and interlocked with each other at every step. Her arms appeared to be the same vines, and they were too long, reaching almost to her knees, with multiple fingers like the newest growing vines. The hair that fell down her back was matted, trailing across the ground, and it was difficult to tell if it was real hair or a tangle of soft mosses and lichens that imitated the same thing.

It was her eyes though. Her eyes, more than her elfin face, more than her nakedness, more than her long arms or her mossy hair, made Caduceus know with absolute certainty that she wasn’t human. They were flaming eyes, huge and bottomless, oversized for her face like a deer. A deep gold like shafts of the warmest afternoon sunlight through leaves, with an impossible wisdom in them that made Caduceus feel more naked than she was.

He knew her eyes.

“Caduceus...” she hummed fondly, coming to stand before him, and smiling down into his openly worshiping face. “Do you know me, little one?”

“Mother...” he choked out, voice little more than a sob, overwhelmed by the adoration that closed his throat.

He didn’t need to talk though. She spoke for him, knowing what he couldn’t say.

“Sweet child.” The Wild Mother said, her voice almost a coo, and the caress of one of her many arms brushed over his cheek. 

“I’m ready for you,” he managed to spit out at last, and found something in him to make him bring his eyes up to her face. “It’s all complete.”

“Of course you are,” she rumbled back, obviously proud and fond of him, pleased by his little ways.

And what a miracle was that! She was pleased. His own small, humble, frayed around the edges preparations, had pleased her.

Stumbling and uncoordinated, but making every effort to be a good host, Caduceus awkwardly lead her inside the temple. She bent through the door, and followed him smiling to the fire, where she settled on one of the mats with another pleased little hum. Eager to make her happy again, Caduceus rushed to steep more tea, so his guest could have everything she wanted.

He chose the blend from Lyra’s grave. Just Lyra, because she had one of the oldest graves and the vines growing over her plot had obscured and ruined her last name long before he was born. But Lyra was another favorite, and she seemed somehow to fit the Wildmother’s presence. One of the sweetest blends he had, light clear and sharp, with strong honeyed nectar tones with something green and almost herbal in the aftertaste. Melora just watched him, as he measured and poured the tea, smiling gently.

Finally he passed the cup once it had steeped, mumbling “nice fresh blend. Very sweet. Good for light meals and early mornings...”

She lifted it to sip. Her eyes almost disappeared as she smiled with a five year old’s giddy radiance, and she immediately sipped again. Caduceus could feel himself smiling too, lopsided and goofy, with the pleasure of watching her enjoy his tea.

“You like it?” He mumbled shyly, settling down on the mat across from her, and sipping his own cup.

“It’s perfect, my child,” the Wildmother reassured. “Thank you...”

“It’s good with honeyed biscuit. You should try.”

He reached to prepare a biscuit, and the Mother watched him with warm eyed interest as she sipped her tea. Caduceus covered two biscuits in honey, one for him one for the Wildmother, and carefully held it out. Her curling green fingers gently accepted the offering, and she daintily took a bite, once more smiling at the taste.

“I like to dip mine,” Caduceus confided artlessly, showing her how he bobbed his biscuit in the hot tea. “You get both flavors that way.”

The Wildmother followed his example, and for several minutes they sat in companionable silence. The biscuits dwindled, Caduceus doing everything in his power to make his stretch to the last morsel. Then the tea also, until the Mother and drained the last dregs from her cup. Then she suddenly leaned forward, her eyes capturing him so he couldn’t move or look away, empty mug clutched in nerveless fingers.

“Sweet Caduceus...” the Wildmother said, like the softest whisper of breath, and she brushed the hair back from his eyes. “Little one...you are so kind...”

All he could draw from himself in response was a wordless keen, faint and broken, and full of adoration.

He was wordless, voiceless, defenseless, in the face of the Wildmother’s gaze. Naked, but he felt no need to protect himself. Instead, he could have sat for blissful centuries, fulfilled by nothing more than her eyes gazing into his. She bent further, breaking the connection, but he had no time to complain, because her lips met his forehead instead and he shivered beneath her. Shaken by her affection over him.

“My love, I have come with a request...” she whispered, while she stroked his hair.

“What ever you need,” he declared, with an absolute certainty in his words.

“I don’t want to ask it, but I must,” she said, the sadness in her voice like a bottomless pit that Caduceus could hardly support. She brought another hand up to stroke his cheek. “It will be painful.” She brought their foreheads together, a hand finding her way to lightly cup his throat. “You will have so much hurt, little one...But I ask still, because good will come from it. So much good.”

“Anything...” Caduceus promised, hardly knowing what he could offer, only that he unconditionally did. “Anything you need...”

“I need you...” She said, and this time her voice was almost a purr, gently, so gently, pressing his legs apart and sliding up his inner thighs to grasp his hips. Caduceus shuddered underneath her, still completely submissive, panting faintly against her warmth.

“I need a strong body...” The Wildmother explained. Her hands grasped higher, finding Caduceus’s stomach and stroking there, like a man gentling his horse. “My children need warmth, or they will die before their season, and I must have a heat to carry them...I would not ask, if there was another way.” The Wildmother mourned, her voice sad now like a weeping brook, notes of desperation and despair leaking through her gentle lilt. “Such a burden for you, my dear one, my sweetest. Too much. Too much for you. So much to ask—“

Somehow Caduceus found the coordination to move, even while his voice failed him, and he jerkily reached up to cling a hand around the back of her neck, possessively trapping her hand against his body, and peeled his tongue apart to whisper one tiny pleading word. “Please...”

“Little one...”

He craned his neck up, her form looming so impossibly tall over him, quite plainly asking for affection now. The Wildmother responded without a shadow of a grudge. She bent to kiss his forehead again, lingering so long that he said “please” again. Like an answer she kissed his cheek, softly, and again and again, until he was tugging faintly at her for more. Then she finally found his mouth, sealing his lips with her mouth against his own, and it did more than seal his lips. It was only a chaste brush of skin on skin, but it sealed him to her, more firmly than any prayer, any meditation, any thought ever had. More truly than anything else he knew was to come, she truly had him then.

Finally it broke apart, making him want to cry for the deprivation, but her arms steadied him, and her eyes found him again. No words, but an understanding of each other, as they gazed. Then Caduceus reached up, finding a disheveled twig in her hair, and he traced his fingers over it as mushroom caps burst in their wake. The Wildmother smiled, bright and unfettered as a sun bursting from behind clouds, and explored his work with a touch of her own.

“Use me.” Caduceus said into the silence. “I’m okay with it.”

“I knew you would be who I need.” The Wildmother responded.

Her arms wrapped around him, layers and layers of support and kindness, and she lifted him. Gathered into her arms, Caduceus settled against her, trusting her implicitly to hold him. With gentle steps, the Wildmother bore him across the room, bending to settle him into a sitting position at the edge of his bed.

Then she stood over him, wordless and unmoving, smiling down at him as she played with his hair. She stroked his face, and carded her fingers through his pink waves, until the need was tight in his throat again, sitting hot at the base of his tongue. Caduceus opened his mouth to implore her, but she answered his request before he could voice it, bending to kiss him again.

It was heavier this time, and it didn’t complete him like the last one had. He was chafing instead, clinging, eager for an edge of something he couldn’t name. Fruitlessly he tried to hum for it, lean toward it, tug at her body to get it. She wouldn’t yield. Something like a sob found him, catching in his throat as his eyes burned. Then she was suddenly all yielding, shushing him devotedly.

The warm heat of her tongue, passing across the seam of his lips, drew his first outright sound of pleasure. A shuddery and startled gasp broke from him, mouth cracking beneath her’s to breathe, and she tasted him before he could think. Suddenly her tongue was everywhere, and her hands were everywhere, both longer and more nimble than his own. She lavished affection on him with her tongue, making his head spin with the taste of her, while her hands stroked his jaw, his hair, his shoulders, his knees.

With quiet seduction, she pressed his knees apart again, and he easily yielded to her. Before he felt the caress of one hand, that he’d lost in the chaos, dip between his legs to trace a line over him beneath his trousers. He choked on it, hips twitching underneath her to search for another touch, feeling a bloom of heat and wetness between his legs. Like a reward for the half moan he’d given her, she traced out the seam of him again with two faintly prodding fingers, stroking over his crotch maddeningly.

The Wildmother kissed him until he was drunk on her. Until his lips were numb and swollen, his eyes were glassy with pleasure, and he was so eager that it almost hurt to have her touch him so denyingly. Then her lips pulled away from him, and Caduceus couldn’t stop the way he gasped for air, lungs expanding gratefully. He was dizzy from forgetting to breathe, so unstrung that he sagged against her touch, and she had to support him and hold him up.

But he smiled hazily through it all, gazing up at her like she was the only thing he could see.

“Sweet one...” she cooed again, “so good for me.”

Her hand pressed fully between his legs. Startling, sudden, sensation that he’d been craving until he unexpectedly had it. He cried for her weakly, bucking into her hand as if it was far more, and she laughed. Another set of long spindly fingers found his jaw, cupping him like something treasured, as she gazed into his face and her knuckles continued to stroke a promise between his legs that refracted heat through his clothes. Her arms grasped into his shirt, gently tugging apart the laces, before she gathered its edge and began to raise it.

With quiet gentleness she exposed him, narrow chested and panting, to the air. He gave into it eagerly, raising his arms so she could get the shirt over his head, fur immediately fluffing in the slightly chill air. The same hands found the edge of his trousers, carefully unbuttoning, and plucking at the hem. A coaxing nudge from the Mother made Caduceus raise his hips, allowing her to shuck away the loosened fabric, and she quietly bent to undress him until with a final tug his ankles came free and she discarded his trousers.

Finally, naked down to his drawers, Caduceus was exposed. The Wildmother regarded him affectionately, as if somehow she’d known him all along. Her brushing fingers found the hollow behind his ear that made him shiver, as if she’d touched it a million times, she traced a birthmark patch of darker skin beneath his fur, as if she’d always known it was there. Exploratory and yet familiar fingers found the crux between his legs, greeting his heat and slowly growing dampness with softly stimulating fingers, coaxing him as if she knew all his sensations better than he knew them himself.

Then she bent down. Caduceus choked on surprise and apprehension, vaguely alarmed to find her kneeling before him. It felt like blasphemy. The smile she sent him, from her crouched position by his knees, said that she knew what he was thinking, and indulgently laughed as such scruples. He faintly smiled back, still unsure how to react to her bending so low, and dare he say mortal, on a level with himself.

Such thoughts were soon banished however, as gentle hands found his knees, and made him spread for her once again. He could feel the chill air through his cotton drawers for two shuddering half seconds, then she replaced it, blowing warm steamy air as she breathed on him. He hissed, eager and over sensitive, swaying in his seat.

He tumbled backward with a tiny whimper, as he felt her lips nuzzle between his legs, collapsing unstrung into the mattress. That throbbing heat was back, glowing behind his skin like a fire in his gut, flaring as it sang to the Wildmother bending over him. She mouthed at him insistently, kissing at his heat with hunger in her lips, and Caduceus shivered into it, slick wetness soaking his drawers at her calling. Then she responded with heat of her own, the same lithe tongue he had tasted, now lapping at him through his drawers.

Caduceus keened plaintively at the touch, hips bucking into the Wildmother’s mouth. She cooed in response, taking him by the hips and holding him down, as she continued to lick at him. The drawers quickly became sodden, wet with her tongue and Caduceus’s own slickness. Warmth filled him like a gentle ache, sighs and sensitive hisses dropping from his lips, as she relentlessly prodded through his clothes until he was heavy and throbbing with it.

Once again, her heat abandoned him, making him sob to have her absent. But her fingers found the edges of his drawers, carefully peeling away the soaked fabric, until his core was exposed swollen and shining to the empty air. He couldn’t stifle a hiss of sensitivity, as the freezing winter air met his overheated folds, shuddering with the juxtaposition. Thankfully she didn’t abandon him long.

The first direct skin to skin contact of her tongue at his sheath dragged an outright moan from him. A throaty groan of pleasure rising to his lips as he self-consciously tried to smother the cry with a hand pressed into his mouth. Her tongue lapped affectionately between his folds again at the sound, tasting the slick gathering at his entrance, and the full length of his skin. Then Caduceus lost control of another full bodied moan, shuddering as her tongue coaxed at his entrance, and her heat pressed in to taste and explore his yielding inner walls.

Every touch and shift of her tongue made Caduceus jump and startle, as shaken as if each touch were his first one, and each sign of his sensitivity made the Wildmother search out a new way to surprise him. A heartbroken whimper wrenched from his throat, as the full belly of her tongue passed lovingly over his swollen bud, shying sensitively from her mouth before crowding back for more. The Wildmother responded indulgently, taking Caduceus’s clit into her mouth and suckling gently, while the firbolg mewled needfully.

Her tongue overwhelmed him a minute later, loosing himself with a litany of tiny hitching sobs. Foreign heat, a bellied wave of pleasure that he’d never imagined could be wrung out of him, made him shock with sensation. It was cleansing fire and boiling flood, a rush of pleasure yielding him to the Wildmother’s mouth.

Trembling like a newborn colt, Caduceus returned gasping to the earth, his flesh still throbbing with lazy ebbs of pleasure. The Wildmother was soothing him with little kitten licks and kisses at his core, stroking her hands over his shivering thighs to calm him, and carefully holding his hips in place as a grounding point.

Finally the firbolg found enough strength and coordination to crane his neck up, peering down at the goddess between his legs. Their eyes met, and Caduceus grinned dreamily. The Wildmother affectionately planted a chaste kiss on the inside of his thigh.

“That was really nice...” Caduceus rumbled artlessly, after-pleasure giving gravel to his voice.

The Wildmother smiled in mirror of his own absent grin, the expression crinkling around her eyes, and flushing rosy in her cheekbones. Caduceus shakily dragged himself up onto his elbows, and the Mother rose on her knees to meet him. She pecked at his lips with passing affection, and they hovered in each other’s space, still gathering their thoughts while enjoying their close proximity.

“Kinda didn’t know it would be like that, to be honest...” Caduceus shared, without a thought of shame at his inexperience, leaning his face into the Wildmother’s hand as she stroked his cheek. “But it was real good though...can see why people like it...”

“I love your open heart, Caduceus.” The Wildmother said, kissing his forehead again.

“Thanks...”

“Can I continue now?” The Mother asked. Her hands touched meaningfully on the inside of his thighs, stroking circles into his skin just below the line of his hip joint, making his skin jump with an echo of pleasure at his still sensitive sheath. “There is more I must do...”

Leisurely Caduceus considered himself, taking in the sensations of his body. He felt loose, sated and unstrung. As if the Wildmother had wound him until he snapped, and then put him together again, more skillfully fitted than before. It was a little like the ensuing calm after a thunder storm, when the lightening ceased, and the driving rain became a gentle mist on dripping leaves.

“Yeah...” he decided lazily. “Yeah I think so...But maybe some more kissing would be nice...”

Obligingly the Wildmother climbed from her kneeling position on the floor, taking up a new crouching stance on the bed, her knees bracketing Caduceus’s legs. Now that she was no longer at his feet, the sheer size of her became apparent once again, her slender body so much longer than his that she had to bend close over him in order to be eye to eye. She completely dwarfed him, looming over the firbolg underneath her like a menacing shadow.

But the lips that met his were just as loving as they’d been before, locking lips sweetly, and finding all the solace in each other. The cage of arms was a shelter not a barrier, and the hulking form was a guardian not an attacker.

“Yeah,” Caduceus slurred into the Wildmother’s mouth, craning upward to try and reach her bulk above him. “Yeah that’s nice...”

The Wildmother chuckled, playfully stroking at his hair, with an apparently irresistible propensity to pet him in every way she could think of. Her lips plucked at his again and again, less hot and all consuming, but somehow more fulfilling. There was no need for the combative energy of tongue and teeth, when both of them were obviously so much more drawn to kiss and cuddle.

“May I touch you now?” She breathed against him, the faintest brush of her fingers stroking across his folds.

Caduceus shuddered, even at that light sensation, torn between the impulse to close his legs and savor the heat between them, or open and invite still more. A muffled hum against the Wildmother’s mouth, sealing his lips, was all the consent he could manage. But it was enough anyway.

Gently, so polite and decorous that Caduceus hardly noticed it, the Wildmother’s first touch hooked into his flesh. She was slow and infinitely careful, slipping one finger between his folds, and into his waiting heat. A slow rhythm began, as she crooked her finger softly, and Caduceus hummed against her with breath that was no longer words, but awakening pleasure.

With wordless care she coaxed at him, pumping one finger, until his flesh was tingling awake to a gentle blaze. Because her hands were so slender, there was hardly any stretch, and Caduceus soaked in a faintly crawling edge of sensation that made him comfortably warm and loose. But the Mother was slowly gathering momentum, adding a second finger, as the Firbolg in her arms began to feel it.

Their kiss deepened, the Mother turning hungry, as she licked into his mouth and her second finger hooked into his flesh at the same time. Caduceus sighed against her mouth, sucking hazily on her tongue, as his flesh fluttered with awakening interest around her touch. The rhythm of her fingers made him clench, slow and languid around her, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach like a recently eaten hot meal.

Her third finger made him burn, faint and on the edge of uncomfortable, spreading his legs as he made his first conscious effort to relax. By now her touch was coaxing slick from his core, dripping into her hand. Caduceus shuddered, gasping on a real surge of true sensation, as her fingers pressed up into his walls. The insistent and surprisingly vivid pleasure sparking behind his eyes, as her touch pleasured him.

The Wildmother touched him until the slide of her fingers was easy. Until Caduceus’s flesh was loose and clinging around her once again, clenching around her fingers as if he was trying to keep her close. Showering affection and pleasure on him, she hovered above him, kneading into his flesh as he shivered and opened around her.

A fourth finger breaching his flesh made Caduceus moan, his vulnerability exposed as he welcomed the sensation and rebelled against it at the same time. Weak and feeble his head fell back, no longer able to meet the Mother halfway, and she let him fall. As their lips parted, the touch of her fingers only became heavier, as if everything she had lavished on his mouth, she now turned on his flesh instead.

Soft mewls and aborted half cries filled the little temple, as Caduceus submitted and bloomed underneath his goddess, quickly growing soft and responsive. With skillful touches, the Wildmother pulled him right to the edge, panting beneath her with the tension he could recognize as the last half breath before the drop.

A slow deep press of her fingers was the last straw.

Her fingers curled against his spongy inner walls, and he surrendered himself to it unconditionally. A high pitched trembling cry hung on his lips, flesh closing of its own accord around her touch, as a small gush of slick trickled through her fingers. Shaken and exposed, throat bared with his head thrown back, Caduceus allowed her to give him all. The Mother attentively stroked him through it, pressing more and yet more into his flesh, until he was almost crying for the orgasm to end, pulled apart by the high that went on forever.

When he finally sagged back into himself, coming down blurred and shaken, panting through the cotton in his ears, the Wildmother didn’t relent. Her touch continuing to pursue him, gentle but insistent, drawing him tighter still. Caduceus couldn’t contain a heartbroken whimper as he realized her intent, shying from the sensation that was becoming too much for him.

“My child...” her voice soothed, bending to capture his lips again, as if her caress could hold him together.

“Mother—“ Caduceus choked, sobbing into her mouth, and clinging desperately to her sheltering bulk above him.

“Hush little one...my love...” the Wildmother said, calm and adoring. “Let me hold you...I’ll keep you safe...”

By now he could manage no more than a clumsy nod, forcing his legs to part for her again.

The Wildmother was blessedly attentive to his limits, her attentions slowing, gentling, until he wasn’t crying with every breath. But for all her softness, she was still inexorable as ever. Her long, many fingered hand, added a fifth weight to his core. Then a sixth.

Soon Caduceus was gasping against her, overwhelmed, even as gentle as she was. Her touch was too much, filling him in a way he’d never imagined his flesh could accommodate anything. It was a determined effort on his part to accept her, working to relax and admit her, trying to open for her like she wanted. Thankfully, mercifully, she was careful, pausing at the least sign of discomfort from him.

With such concentration, his next climax discovered him unawares. Full and heavy with her touch that completed him, like an emptiness he’d never realized he had, Caduceus didn’t realize he was toppling until it was too late. Crying into her mouth, and shaking around her fingers, throbbing with fullness that left him dizzy.

Then, at last, her fingers stilled within him.

Caduceus could muster little more than the effort to breathe, laboring to draw air into his lungs. Together their stillness was a sacred thing. Perfect and centering, sheltered in a little bubble of humid air, and recovering breathing, sealed off from the rest of the world. The Mother scattered little kisses along the firbolg’s collar bones, and Caduceus lazily clenched around her touch, enjoying the stretch within him that filled him to the brim.

“You’ve done well my child,” the Wildmother praised. “I’m very pleased...”

Still speechless and recovering, Caduceus tilted up for a kiss instead, and the Mother gladly gave it to him. Their lips found each other, sweet, and innocently chaste after everything that had gone before. And Caduceus sagged against it all, fulfilled in a sense that was deeper than any prayer had ever soothed him.

“Are you ready to receive me?” The Wildmother asked, parting just enough to speak.

Caduceus hummed, clenching vaguely around the Wildmother’s fingers at the idea.

“I have made you soft enough,” she reassured, as if reminding herself more than him. “But I will wait, if you are not ready.”

Tilting up to press a kiss to her lips, unlike submitting while she showered kisses over him, Caduceus found his words, repeating his plea from earlier. “Use me...”

She smiled at his response, pausing just long enough to pet his hair, before sitting up.

“I must attend to myself for a moment,” she said apolitically.

The Wildmother’s fingers slipped from his flesh, and Caduceus whimpered petty and dissatisfied to have them leave him. Throbbing with echoes of touch, Caduceus found the coordination to sit up on his elbows again, watching the Mother’s movements. She was softly reaching down to the crux of her thighs, where he could now see there was a patch of skin half concealed by softened yielding vines.

Between her legs, her flesh was shining, slick and swollen like he was. Eagerness shimmered down her legs, lost in the vines that carried her, but Caduceus could recognize it unmistakably. The sight of her made him throb, growing warm and soft with new attraction, as he gazed on her fixedly. Then she softly crooked exploring fingers into her waiting core, lightly fingering around the entrance just an inch or two deep, and Caduceus shuddered with refracted need.

Almost before he really knew what he was doing, the firbolg lurched up onto his knees, shuffling closer.

“Please,” he whispered, throat closing with desire. He plucked faintly at her wrist, imploring with his eyes, as he said, “let me...”

“Dearest.” She cooed, her fingers pausing as she gazed down at him.

“Please...”

Her kiss on the top of his head was the permission he sought, and her hand drifted away from her flesh a moment later, leaving the sheath exposed. Eagerly Caduceus dropped down to hands and knees before her, face to face with the flesh she was offering him.

The smell of her overwhelmed him first. A clean woody musk, like moss and damp leaves, that made him moan before he’d even drawn close to her. Then her prompting hand found the back of his head, and she gently pressed him inwards, guiding his head, until he pressed his mouth into her waiting core.

She was shockingly warm, compared with the cold winter air, feverish against his lips. Just the warmth made him groan, thready and trembling, his whole body rocking toward her as maddening desire flared between his legs. Gods, she was heavenly, and he wanted desperately to loose himself, clenching around dripping slick between his own legs.

It was irresistible to taste her, and his lips parted to delve his tongue into her sheath. Her taste flooded his mouth, hot and wet and animal, a deep woody flavor that matched her smell. More slick rose beneath his tongue, as if his mouth called on her flesh to respond, and a full body shudder rocked her against him. The positive response was enough to make him lightheaded, whimpering and euphoric, eagerly seeking out the depths to please her again. He lapped at her eagerly, plunging his tongue into her sheath, as he licked at her eagerly.

His tongue found her, as he tasted deeply. A hardened nub of throbbing heat, that leaked slick under his tongue as he licked it. The Wildmother moaned above him, as his tongue caressed over it, the sound of her pleasure full and throaty. Obviously he had just discovered something very, very good to touch. Caduceus pressed back in for a deeper taste, searching out the lump again. The same surge of wetness soaked into his mouth as he found it, slick pleasure and his own saliva beginning to drip down his chin. As he flicked his tongue over the lump, it grew bigger, responding to his touch.

Then he lapped in with the full belly of his tongue, and he felt the nub edge past his lips, pressing into his mouth. And as he suckled on it, coaxing it further from the Wildmother’s folds, he realized it was the head of her erection. Fully engorged, and beginning to peek from her sheath, leaking a dribble of aroused pre-spend under his ministrations.

Newly enlightened and eager, Caduceus dedicated himself to the task of beguiling her, coaxing her length to expose itself for him. He pressed in, letting the Mother’s girth rest on his tongue, as he sucked and licked around her. The Wildmother moaned in response, her hips rolling toward him, and her hand stroked lovingly at the back of his head.

Her length quickly became enough that it tickled his throat uncomfortably to swallow all the way down, and as soon as she felt him smother the goddess released the back of his head to give him room. But Caduceus did the best he could, sucking and moulding his mouth around as much as he could reach. Sliding off the head to lap along her length, pressing his tongue against the base where she pressed from her sheath, returning to the tip and suckling eagerly until he tasted woody pleasure on his tongue.

When he finally pulled off to breathe and look at her full length, exposed thick to the air, he whimpered with aroused dismay at the idea of accepting such a thing within him. She was gorgeous, beautiful and intimidating at the same time. Tottering back up to his knees, Caduceus leaned against the Mother’s abdomen, as he stretched up for a kiss. Pressing so close, he felt the stiff prod of her erection glide against his stomach, pinched between their bodies, and both of them moaned with pleasure into the kiss. The Wildmother deep and rumbling, like the very earth was moving, Caduceus high and needy, grinding against her girth and aching between his legs.

Suddenly looming once again, the Wildmother pressed him backwards, pinning him to the blankets beneath her. Caduceus went more than willingly, legs falling open, in a way that had become so easy to submit to her.

“My love. My sweetest Caduceus.” The Mother purred affectionately, her hands roving everywhere over his body, across his stomach, shoulders, throat, and gliding between his folds. “My child, I’m so glad to share this with you. Thank you for giving this to me.”

“Anything,” he gasped in response, unable to do more than cling around her shoulders. “You have all of me.”

“I know,” she said, with a deepening kiss. “And that is the gift...”

With a shock he felt her length prod softly between his legs, and he gave into it eagerly, trying to press down around it. But the Mother was methodical, and would not give him room to move. She pressed his hips down, strong and unbending as the tough old roots of an oak tree, as she let her erection slide hot and unsatisfying against his flesh. Caduceus openly keened with impatience, trying with his pitiful strength to rebel against the Mother’s much stronger hold.

A soft trill of love and affection passed her lips, as she watched him chafe, then she finally began to yield. Slow, careful, with a long firm roll of her hips, she pressed just the tip of her erection into his folds. It was immediately full and overwhelming, Caduceus falling limp as his muscles turned weak and feeble. A pure centering heat, that burned into him, and lit him ablaze around her. He could do little more than cry weakly for her, as she pressed into him. His flesh slowly accepting the stretch that overpowered him. By careful effort, she slowly settled within him, finding a level at last as her length disappeared into his flesh completely.

It ached behind his teeth. He could feel her thickness, sealing him in a way he’d never been sealed. It was a fullness he’d never felt before, and would probably never feel again, crying for mercy at the hands of such completion. A whole that ached, filled him to overflowing, made him something new. In a moment of heavy overburdened love, he was reforged, recreated. United with his goddess, he was not imperfect part, but one half of a heavenly whole.

Then she began to move, gently grinding into him, as she hummed above and around him. Her love sinking into him, as she glided against him. Not harsh, nor even very vigorous, shifting within him but not thrusting much. Yet so, so deep. Reaching points of pleasure he’d never named, touched, or imagined, that made him weep for her.

“Gods I love you.” He sobbed, the words tumbling from his mouth before he even had time to think them. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love—“

He could hardly talk through his emotion, throat closing as his eyes burned. It was a revelation that bent him in half, morphed out of shape as he changed once again. Because somehow he’d always known that the Wildmother loved him. She was The Mother, of course she loved him, one of her many children. But he’d never considered that he loved her back. Had always been the recipient of affection, and never realized just how much of his own devotion overflowed in return, crumpling in adoration before her.

“I love you too, my child.” The Wildmother breathed, laying one of her hands over his heart, and kissing him sweetly. “I love you more than the world has room to hold.”

Then her hand found the tender bud of his pleasure, throbbing neglected above where they were joined, and one careful finger prodded him in a circle.

Caduceus cried with shocked pleasure, his voice ringing in the corners of the room. Her touch softly stroked around him, driving him numb with pleasure, and waves of cresting heat. Her erection filled him full to overflowing, and her hand wrung him to the breaking point beneath her, a creature of pleasure and flesh.

“I love your prayers, little one.” The Wildmother confided, kissing his throat as he moaned beneath her lips. “Your pleas for the woodland, for the dead, for the living. Your prayers sing to me.”

“I love your faith, my child.” She crooned. Her fingers half painfully tugged at his clit, pinching the swollen nub until he sobbed with it, trembling and clenching around her rhythmically. “You’re so quick to run to me. Every fear is your gift, every sorrow your sacrifice, every tear your plea for my help. Always, you cry out to me.”

“I love your simplicity, beloved.” The Mother hummed liltingly, and Caduceus felt the base of her length beginning to swell within him, pressing him even fuller than he’d been already, grinding against his sensitive walls. “I love your tea, and your temple. I love your little ways. I love your hum when you’re weeding. I love your snore when you sleep. I love your smile when you stand in the rain. I love you, Caduceus Clay, and I hold you all for me...forever and ever...”

Falling for her was inevitable. The Wildmother’s hand cupped his clit between her fingers, gently rolling it, and Caduceus was gone. He sobbed with his pleasure, choked and broken, and he could feel that he was truly weeping now. Tears claimed him, soaking down his cheeks, as he bucked faintly beneath the Mother’s girth.

White hot glory washed over him, golden behind his eyelids. The deepest walls of his flesh shuddered, almost protesting too much fulfillment. He whimpered and flinched, offering up a rush of slick at her coaxing, and burned to the very core of him. While the Mother was careful through it all, whispering more ways that she loved him, though he was too broken to listen to her.

The pleasure left him cleansed, returning in bits and pieces, to find the world steady once more. Above him the Wildmother had almost gone still, slowly thrusting into him with leisurely rolls of her hips, and as he stretched he could feel why. The swollen base of her erection, now a heavy lump within him, had her pinned so firmly deep within him that it tore at him to move. She was less driven now, more affectionate, cuddling him in her arms, as she sated herself with an occasional twitch of her hips.

“It’s almost time,” she rasped, her pupils wide and dark as she gazed at him. “Are you ready, my dearest?”

Tongue suddenly cleaving to the roof of his mouth, staggered by the full realization of what a sacred thing this was, he nodded.

The Wildmother nodded back, her forehead dropping to rest against the hollow at the base of Caduceus’s throat. Then she moaned, warm and rich like honey, while her hips jumped almost sharply enough to make Caduceus hiss with the burn. Her swollen member thickened further, the heavy base of her erection filling him to the point of pain. Then the swell passed downward, and he realized it was not her girth growing thicker, but something passing down her length and into him.

He felt it settle, solid and final, behind his skin. A lump that rested, slightly foreign, where before his flesh had been empty. Then a sharp spike of burning agony, that his skin rebelled against, whining as he writhed. For a moment the ache grew, filling his stomach until he thought he was going to be sick, unable to escape, but unable to keep from trying to.

Thankfully it didn’t last long. In a few moments the pitch lessened, until the searing burn had dulled to a distant ache, like the empty crying of his stomach after forgetting to eat. The Wildmother nuzzled over his face, still attentive, even though his cry for help had stopped. Falling back into the sheets, Caduceus made an effort to calm his breathing, forcing his muscles to unclench and rolling his shoulders.

For a long time the Mother simply rolled her hips again, setting their flesh in play against each other, until Caduceus’s core was incandescent with a low hum of pleasure again. Then she hissed with intense sensation, and he felt the same dense weight pass down to rest beside the first, giving him two lumps to hold. Like before the weight in his gut was immediately followed by a rolling crescendo of tearing pain, like claws raking across the pit of his stomach. Before he finally fell limp, shivering and breathing hard, prying his hands apart where they had been gripping the Wildmother’s shoulders painfully.

In the end it was a lengthy process, as the Wildmother subsided to lazy grinding after each climax, and exchange of her seed. Caduceus throbbed with weariness around her, the dull ache in his stomach persisting. Slowly she passed four of her foreign masses into him, each one accepted with a burst of momentary affliction like the first.

Finally she sagged against him, her breath heavy and erratic, obviously just as spent as he was with their effort. He could feel the press of her swollen length beginning to whither, as her girth softened at the same time. Carefully, cupping his hips as if he were something precious and breakable, she let her length slide away to leave him empty, while her erection withdrew back into the sheltering folds of the sheath between her legs.

Absently he ran a hand over his stomach, the movement instinct and reflexive. But the unfamiliar weight, taut and slightly swollen, surprised him. There was a new faint roundness to his stomach, probably difficult to notice for someone who didn’t look closely, but to Caduceus’s familiarity with his own body, the change was unmistakable.

Her children.

Caduceus’s hand jumped away, as if he’d caught himself committing blasphemy. She’d explained what she needed, and yes he’d understood and consented to it. But touching the real thing...pressing a hand over his stomach and knowing that lives were sheltered there...somehow that was much more vividly real. It was tangible now, throbbing beneath his fingertips. Sown into his very skin until no hand, not even his own, could remove her mark.

Her hand joining his own, made him jump. She cupped his abdomen with the same knowledge in her eyes that he’d just discovered. But while the hand at his stomach was for them, whoever these new lives were, the eyes glowing golden above his face were for him, and him alone. It was her adoration again, more tales of her love for him, that no longer needed words. The love poured from her eyes like water, and entered him to fill his soul to overflowing.

“I love you,” he whispered again. Softer and less vocally emphatic, but somehow the familiarity of it, the absentmindedness, made his words sweet in a way they hadn’t met his tongue before.

“I love you too,” the Wildmother returned with a smile. Her fingers curled into his hair, plucking at the strands in a way that was starting to become routinely familiar.

Caduceus sagged into the mattress, breathing deepening as he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, one hand unconsciously returning to pet his solid stomach. In the same way the Wildmother crawled upward, flinging herself tiredly down at his side, her arm affectionately straddling out to caress over his body as they rested together. Their fingers collided over his abdomen, and in the end they laced, resting together over the swell. And there was a promise in that winding of fingers too, possessively cupping his belly together: a promise each made to themselves and to the other. An oath to fiercely protect the little lives they were both caring for, and to viciously strike back at any enemy that attempted to harm them.

The influence of physical exertion, extremes of pain and pleasure, and the warm weight of the Mother beside him, were making Caduceus’s eyes heavy. His blinking kept turning to slips toward sleep, forcing his eyes open after longer and longer lapses. The Wildmother didn’t seem to have any desire to move, or speak, or really do anything more than the cuddling they were doing. Part of the firbolg wanted to stay on the surface, savor as much of this quiet moment as he could, but it was getting harder and harder. If he could just rest his eyes for a moment, then he would shake himself awake, and make tea for the Mother like he should...because he had to treat guests with hospitality...his guest...

Tea...

He fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course it’s up to personal interpretation, and you lovely people can consider Caddy trans in this fic, if that makes the story better for you. 
> 
> But for anyone interested, I decided that in my depiction of Firbolg biology, it is actually the males that have typically female coded reproductive organs. Kinda like seahorses. Maybe that’s weird, but I’m _also_ very weird, and some of the kinks I like to explore are very strange. So in this fic, Caduceus is biologically male, for a firbolg.


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel blue. In my dreams oh I wish I could..._
> 
> _Feel my hair blowing in the wind, see the sky and the summer rain. Pick a flower from the garden for you. Beyond the lane there's another world, butterflies floating in the air...But is there someone out there for me?_
> 
> [Arrietty’s Song](https://youtu.be/G7q07dyIsX8), by Cecile Corbel (it’s the Japanese version of it, but that was the best recording I could find on youtube...)

It was Spring.

Caduceus knew it, as soon as he opened his eyes, gazing with a surprised frown up at the ceiling. That was odd. It had been winter just yesterday...now there was a fresh scent in the air, a cool of thawing frost, a _plip plip_ of dripping leaves. This was definitely spring. Not a Winter-Is-Lingering day, or a Last-Day-of-Winter day.

A Spring day, sure and certain.

Caduceus stretched, joints popping as he spread his arms out, reaching one hand out of the blanket draped over him to absently pat the bed beside him. He found it empty. That absence upset him, morning turning sour before he even realized what he missed. Then he remembered.

The Wildmother.

For a moment his heart shattered to realize he was alone. His bed was cold, his soul was empty, and he doubted the tale of his own memory for a terrifying moment of betrayal. Nearly frantic he lurched up onto one elbow, eyes searching over his temple to see if it was untouched.

His eyes discovered the fire first, blazing brightly even though he hadn’t mended it this morning. Then the rush mats, two dirty cups, and scattered biscuit crumbs on the floor. All proof of reality, and not some sharply remembered dream. Before he processed the evidence of his hand over his stomach, unmistakably finding the same swollen and tight skin he’d fallen asleep with the night before. The Wildmother was his last proof, quietly ducking into the room from his little garden, damp with misting rain and dew. She was carrying his little kettle, dripping water on the floor that beaded down its sides. Obviously she’d filled it at the stream, as familiar with his habits, as if they were her own.

“Good morning, sweet one.” She said, as she noticed him sitting up on his elbows to look at her.

“Morning...” he said, voice deep and horse with sleep still.

The Wildmother quietly crossed the room, hanging his kettle over the fire, just as if she’d watched him do it a thousand times. Stepping carefully around the cups and crumbs on the floor, she glided across the room, tucking herself back under the blankets beside him. Caduceus welcomed her, only belatedly noticing their changed position, properly tucked in bed, when she settled beside him. A smile was glittering in her eyes when she settled, and he smiled lazily at her across the pillow as they looked at each other.

“I should really clean that mess up,” Caduceus observed listlessly, after nearly a minute spent in silence. “The crumbs will attract ants if I leave them out,” arguing without the slightest sign of following through on his words. “Or I’ll step on them, and get them stuck in my fur...”

“We should stay in bed all day,” the mother countered softly, the smile in her eyes turning fond.

“I...suppose even ants have their place...” Caduceus faltered, voice sinking to a mumble. “They’re probably hungry too now that I think about it...need to get their food from somewhere...”

The Wildmother trailed a finger down his cheek.

“I thought you left...” Caduceus said, speaking just above a whisper. “When I woke up...I thought you were gone...”

“Not yet.” The Wildmother said simply.

That answered one of Caduceus’s questions. He voiced the other one.

“How long then?”

“A season or more,” the Mother declared absently, as if going over the figures in her mind. “I won’t know exactly when. But when they’re ready...when my children can follow me...then.”

“Oh.”

“I have always been with you, my child.” She said, the words “_and I always will be_”, going unspoken but felt.

“Not like this though...” he murmured sadly, twining his fingers with hers on the pillow.

“Not like this...” she agreed.

Caduceus couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at anything really. He closed his eyes against the burn, shutting it out, as despair threatened to smother him. Then her lips on his forehead called him back, her words brushing against his face, faintly stirring his pink fringe with the wind of her breath.

“I will not leave you alone, my son. You will not always be lonely.” Her words rang, the promise holding more meaning than just the surface. His instinct catching a prophecy even if he couldn’t understand what it meant.

“A number will come, that is seven but nine, and you shall be six of five. And there shall be many things you are, and things you are not. A grave shall be filled, you shall be it’s gardener, but you shall not be it’s keeper. Wounds shall be opened, but only wounds shall mend them. A healer you shall be, but a healer you are not.”

“I don’t understand...” Caduceus protested sadly, frowning with empty puzzlement.

“You will not, for a long time.” The Wildmother said gently. “You will see your path ahead, but understand your path behind.”

The kettle whistled.

Something shattered with the sound. Caduceus instinctively felt it, like a teacup that smashed just out of sight or sound. But the air tingled, and he breathed in with the suddenness of someone who only just realized that they’d been holding their breath.

“That sounds like breakfast to me,” the Wildmother hummed, slipping back out of bed.

Caduceus sat up after her, finding that the movement which used to be easy, required a heave of effort now. He wasn’t as limber as before, finding his body reluctant to bend, stiff and clumsied. Pausing with his hand over his stomach, Caduceus breathed, frowning at the temple floor. When he looked up, the Wildmother was looking at him. He smiled to reassure her concern, and pushed himself out of bed.

“There’s still some dried apples left, I think,” he said, padding to her across the temple. “They might make a good meal, with some tea...a nice sweet blend would be good...and the honey if there’s any left.”

They fell into an easy routine around each other, each busy with small tasks to aid the other. Vaguely Caduceus could feel that his step had changed, turning heavier, just a little more careful. But he didn’t really notice, through the pleasure of brewing tea, while watching the Wildmother poke and prod her way through his little pots and baskets.

<><><>

The first time he noticed something was different was when he was out gardening.

Spring was advancing quickly, and that meant some things had to be done quickly. The trees were sprouting new leaves, everywhere new grass was growing, and the birds were coming back. Altogether, it was the most rapid, and lush, spring growth that Caduceus had seen in more seasons than he could count on both hands.

He could only attribute it to the Wildmother’s presence, blessing the land, encouraging it to grow more lavishly. Just looking at her made that perfectly clear. She only grew more beautiful as spring advanced, gaining a new healthy glow to her skin, budding leaves in her hair. Remembering how she looked when she first came to his temple, and how she looked now, Caduceus realized that she’d come to him in her winter form, a pale shadow of her full beauty. Just like nature, she waxed and waned with the passage of time.

In comparison, he was not much to look at. He was in the middle of shedding his winter coat, which made him scruffy and ill-groomed, little fluffs of fur dropping off of his body at every touch. The Wildmother liked to play with it, petting him dreamily, while his loose fur stuck to her hands and formed small piles.

That wasn’t even mentioning the roundness of his stomach. They weren’t even halfway through spring, and he was already heavier, his body fuller. The lives he was carrying must be making rapid progress. Because nobody could mistake his swollen belly now, gently fattening him, and starting to make it difficult for him to bend over. It was obvious, weighing on him in everything he did, making his back ache, and his feet sore.

But he didn’t really notice the full effect until Gardening day.

He’d barely started, digging out half a furrow with his hoe, when weariness made him stop in the middle of his work. There was still a large area of ground to cover, not to mention all the little seeds he had to plant after that. But in that moment, he couldn’t.

He wasn’t strong enough.

It startled him to pause. He’d meant to catch his breath for a few seconds, leaning on his hoe. But as soon as he stopped, he realized he was trembling, his breathing spent and labored, as if he’d already done three days worth of work in one. His body felt as weak as water, there was a nauseous pitch in his stomach, and his head ached like it was about to split.

As it was, he just barely managed to make himself walk five feet to sit in the shade under the apple tree. Once there, he undeniably collapsed, tumbling into a sitting position because it was so tiring to stand anymore. He almost whimpered in relief, overwhelmed with gratitude to sit down, gasping for breath with his head leaned back against the tree trunk.

Ten minutes later, he could feel himself returning to some semblance of normal, and he lifted his head to take stock of himself. Something was definitely different. Last spring, he could have hoed, planted, and watered this entire vegetable plot in one afternoon. Yes he would be tired by the end of it, but it wasn’t an exertion that overwhelmed him, nothing that a healthy night’s sleep couldn’t remedy.

Now, he’d barely started the work, and he was shaken with fatigue. That wasn’t how it used to be at all. For the first time Caduceus looked at himself, really looking for changes in his body, instead of just brushing off and forgetting them.

Of course there was the weight of his charges, the effect of the little lives he was sheltering noticeable at once. But it wasn’t the only change. With surprise and curiosity he noticed that he was thinner. Not shockingly so, but definitely less sturdily muscled than he’d been even one season ago, slender where before he’d been toned and even a little muscular.

Sobered by this knowledge, Caduceus looked back at the vegetable plot, evaluating. Honesty forced him to admit his deficiencies. There was no way he could complete that kind of strenuous gardening by himself, even if he wanted to, after the telling blunder earlier.

Groping for his hoe, he laboriously clawed to his feet. And even if he’d been inclined to lie to himself, that effort would have told the truth. Because already, just the effort of pulling himself to his feet, made him breathless and want to sit down again. Leaning on the gardening tool like an impromptu staff, Caduceus limped back between the graves to the temple.

In the end, the Mother did the heavy digging for him, and he was able to scoot after her and drop in seeds. But he still needed several breaks, and she had to finish sewing the last two rows herself, because he wasn’t able to keep up with her pace of work. She didn’t seem to mind, and she didn’t ask any questions or make any accusations either.

<><><>

He was washing dishes, when he realized that he couldn’t stand on his own.

It had already been a frustrating day, because the Wildmother had to lift everything heavy, and he’d wanted to do some weeding, but knew he couldn’t realistically do it. His stomach was a heavily swollen weight by now, pressing tight against some of his shirts. The fullness of his body burdened him constantly, tired out by even simple tasks. Weeding, would be more than he could exert himself.

The dishes had been a hopeful solution. At least he could pull his weight by keeping the temple clean, even if he couldn’t contribute in more meaningful ways. The Wildmother had fetched him a brimming pot of water, settling it in the windowsill on one side of the temple, so that he could easily dump the water out into the grass beneath the window after he was done. They hardly used any dishes anyway, and Caduceus had dropped the used cups and dishes into the pot, swirling them around in the cool water.

Even that made him want to rest, and irritation had fueled his efforts to continue. All he had to do was wash out four cups, and two plates. He could have it done within a minute, and sit down after. So he stubbornly plunged his hands into the water, scrubbing out the first mug.

Then he realized with a sick drop of horror in his stomach, that he was about to fall. He recognized the impending disaster with a strange kind of distant clarity, realizing that his effort was about to overburden him. Feebleness crawled up his legs, sucking the life out from his feet up, and he swayed on his legs.

“Mother—“ he choked out, making a flawed plea for help.

“Yes, my love?” She hummed from her place by the fire, where she was scrubbing out dirty laundry.

Caduceus lurched on his feet with a whimper. Gods he couldn’t fall. That might hurt him, or even worse, hurt the little ones. With a last burst of desperate strength that seemed to take all the good out of him, Caduceus gripped the window edge, holding himself up by main force of his fingers.

And then the Wildmother was there. Hurried and full of concern, shushing through her teeth as she grasped him in her arms, attentively supporting his weight. Caduceus sobbed with release, sagging against her. Slowly the Wildmother dropped to the floor, and Caduceus was forced to drop with her, unable to harbor his own weight.

“My child...” the Mother said, concerned questions overflowing in her voice, as she embraced him and smoothed her hand over his taut and heavy stomach.

“M’okay...” he mumbled, patting her hand on top of his belly, and lacing their fingers together. “Just...gotta catch my breath...”

For a long time they sat in silence, as Caduceus slowly recovered a semblance of equilibrium. Sitting arm in arm on the floor, while the Wildmother stroked her fingers through Caduceus’s hair, and he gathered himself back to center by small pieces. Finally breathing easy, Caduceus squeezed her fingers, and she acknowledged him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Can you get up?” The Wildmother asked, in a heavy voice that said she already knew the answer.

And indeed, Caduceus faintly tried. But he could barely muster the strength to move his legs, let alone support his weight on them, a pained sob rising to his lips as soon as he made the effort. The Wildmother supported him as he collapsed again, after giving up the fruitless exertion, and she shushed him as he keened with disappointment at his own limitations.

Looking at their joined hands in the following silence, Caduceus realized with a surge of horror, how different they looked.

The Wildmother was bursting with health. The vines of her hands were fat and supple, smooth skinned and glowing, vigorous with spring health and growth. In comparison, his own hands looked starved. He was even thinner than before, joints standing sharp and angular, tendons ropy beneath his skin. The mother was fleshy, while he was rail thin, she was glowing, while he was almost skeletal. When placed together, the contrast was unmistakable, showing much more vividly how weakened Caduceus truly was, while his goddess continued to grow stronger.

“I’m sorry...” he mumbled, squeezing faintly around the Wildmother’s hand.

“You don’t need to apologize.” She reassured.

Silence fell once again, as Caduceus considered himself, idly stroking his stomach.

“It’s them,” he said at last, admitting the truth that he’d already known but looked away from. “Your children.”

“You feel them?” The Wildmother asked.

Caduceus looked inward, and realized that he could. It was a buzz of life beneath his skin, singing within his abdomen until their song almost blocked out his own. The flame of life was almost blinding, something he’d instinctively felt, but never realized was growing. Now they were vigorous, humming with new growth, while he grew more and more weakened. Compared with them, the flame of his own living force was a pale and slowly fading candle.

“They take so much,” he hissed, voice almost a sob.

He was tired. So tired now. Finally admitting how drained he really was, how empty and barely holding together. He realized with sudden understanding that their force was a draw, a constant burden on him, leeching away his strength. Until they grew healthier, and he grew more feeble. While the swell of his stomach was vigorous and glowing, the rest of his form was fading in comparison.

“They’re bigger than me now.” He said tiredly. “Stronger.”

“I’m sorry...” the Wildmother said in a whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Caduceus said, echoing her words. He craned his neck back to look up into her face, making the effort to smile whole and unshadowed. “I wanted this. I want them.”

“It still pains me,” she murmured softly, her eyes distant and burdened. “To see what you give.”

“I’m glad to give it,” he declared, discovering in his words just how sincere he was. “Even if I knew the cost, I’d pay it again.” Then he raised her hand where it was twined with his own, to nuzzle against her palm, and whisper “thank you though... for hurting for me...”

“Of course,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, my child.”

<><><>

After that, there was no more struggling. Caduceus was too weak to truly make an effort, and both of them knew it. The Wildmother did everything for him, and wouldn’t hear of his trying to accomplish anything on his own, though he wasn’t very eager to try.

Every task, even the smallest things, had to be completed with her help. Caduceus needed her help to walk wherever he went, and needed her to carry him when walking was no longer possible. He could only watch while she cleaned the temple, fetched their water, weeded the garden, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to help her even if he wanted to.

He needed her help in the evenings too. Because it was getting difficult for him to finish even small tasks, like brewing tea. Reluctant as he was to give up this dearest habit of his, he knew he had to, surrendering the cups and kettle to her stronger hands.

Since the afternoon when Caduceus’s legs had given out on him, they’d often sat on the floor together, and it had become a kind of evening ritual. The Wildmother, knowing how disappointed he was at being unable to make tea, would let him sit in her lap and oversee the process. He appreciated her efforts to make him feel involved, and found a vicarious joy in watching her hands, occasionally directing her.

Cuddled together on one such evening, Caduceus idly watched her press the leaves just how he’d told her to, pouring the water in a careful way that he’d taught her, and realized again how deeply they’d become enmeshed in the space of one short season. There were signs everywhere now. Small bundles of flowers and leafy twigs were scattered around the temple, brought indoors by the Mother who dearly loved to gather them. Outside the garden was full of her touches, growing more vibrantly than it ever had under her undeniably greater skill with plants. And there was the plain tale of his abdomen, full almost to bursting, heavy and ripe.

He knew that something had to change soon. The lives he could watch and feel within him were almost complete, bright and bursting now. He could tell the Wildmother sensed the change too, hovering around him at all hours of the day, unconsciously touching his heavy skin every now and then in an impatient eager way. She was watching carefully. They both were.

The Wildmother tucking a steaming mug into his hands, brought him back from these abstracted thoughts, and he gratefully accepted it. Lifting her own cup, she took a sip with the deeply resonant hum of pleasure that he’d come to expect now, purring in a familiar way against his back. He could feel the feebleness in his fingers as soon as he raised his cup, trembling like thin breakable glass, and he gave up after barely moving at all.

“Help me?” He pleaded questioningly, tilting his head back to look at the Mother’s face. “I might spill it...”

At once she set her own cup aside, one hand wrapping over his own to support the cup’s weight since he could barely support it, while he sipped his tea like she had. Her hands dwarfed his by now, her long spindly fingers growing in the spring flush, so that her extended joints were nearly double the size of his. Everything about her elongated and filled out, as spring progressed, growing thicker, taller, and smoother in comparison to Caduceus’s steadily decreasing body mass.

“Why did you choose me?” Caduceus asked softly, after their joined hands had subsided, and the Wildmother was nosing into her own cup above him.

“Hmmm?” Reverberating hollow and trapped from the well of her mug as she slurped her tea with noisy enjoyment.

Caduceus grinned, laughing at her childish enthusiasm. But it didn’t distract him, and he put his question again, with renewed curiosity. “Your children...why did you choose me to carry them?” He frowned, the temple around him darkening as he mumbled. “Surely you have many other more worthy followers. I’m nothing special really.”

“You are special to me.” The Wildmother asserted, resurfacing, and gazing down at him soulfully as she spoke. “And I chose you a long time ago.”

“Really...”

“You wouldn’t remember it,” the Mother said, turning her eyes on the fire, “you were only a little child. Too young to remember...”

“Tell me about it?” Caduceus requested softly.

The Wildmother smiled at the fire, her eyes growing distant, as if she were looking at something far away. Shifting against her, Caduceus snuggled himself against her chest, preparing for her story. After a long thoughtful moment, she began.

“You were very small then. Quite a child.” She told him, her arms winding around his chest in a secure lock. “You were playing hide and seek with your brothers and sisters, in the edge of the woods. They all got tired of the game, and went back before they found you, thinking that you would follow when you realized no one was coming to find you.”

She paused for a moment, the story broken, as Caduceus needed her help to take another sip of his tea. Only after he’d drunk, did she resume, eyes returning to the fire.

“But you were so trusting, my love, and even though hours went by you still waited and waited, convinced that someone was about to come discover your hiding place.” She laughed, and Caduceus chuckled along.

Even if he didn’t remember, it still sounded very much like something he would do, constantly a step behind in all the games his siblings had ever devised. Always the one to tell the truth, when the game required him to lie, or blankly ask who was _It_ in the middle of tag. He’d always been absentminded and forgetful, making everyone groan with frustration when “_dumb ol’ Caddy forgot the rules again_.”

“It was dark by the time you realized your mistake,” the Mother’s voice softly recalled his attention, “and you tried to find your way home. But you couldn’t find your way in the dark, and instead of going the right direction, you only wandered farther into the trees, getting more and more lost. You went so far that your family couldn’t find you, when you were missed, and nobody knew where you’d gone...that’s when I found you...”

She hugged him, cuddling around him as she kissed the top of his head.

“You were so sad, when I found you: roaring away like a little lion, as the tears made little tracks in the dirt on your cheeks.” She trilled, obviously fond of the child in her memory. “As soon as you saw me, you just smiled, and toddled over to hug me. You weren’t the least bit frightened of me. I took you in, and I made you a nice little nest in a hollow tree. I found some good things to eat, and we cuddled together the whole night, eating berries and talking. You told me all about your family, and your house, and the graves, and everything...until you fell asleep...” she laughed, merry and loving, as she said “you were so tired, you snored.”

“I still snore...” Caduceus muttered guiltily, smiling even through his admission.

“I know.” She said. “Sometimes I listen.”

“You sit up in the middle of the night, just to listen to me snoring?” Caduceus demanded with playful indignation.

“Yes!” The Wildmother laughed, poking at his ribs. “I think it’s a very nice snore.”

“That’s kinda weird.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“I like when you drool in your sleep too. It’s very adorable.”

“I do not drool in my sleep.” Caduceus protested, slapping the Wildmother’s arms indignantly.

The playful argument immediately settled back into peaceful silence. The Wildmother propped her chin on top of his head, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. The touch made Caduceus hum with gratification, once more snuggling back into the circle of her arms.

“What happened after that?” He asked, breaking the silence of several minutes.

“Well...I watched over you all night,” the Wildmother recounted, finishing her tale thoughtfully. “And in the morning, I took you back, until you found the place where you recognized the right way to get home. Then we said goodby, and I told you I would come back to see you again, and I watched you from a distance until I saw you safe in your mother’s arms on the front step. Ever since I’ve watched from the shadows, waiting for the right day to come back...and here I am...”

“That’s a good story...” Caduceus decided, after thinking it over. “I’m glad you told me...”

“You’ve always been my own special boy, my dear.” The Mother said

“I wish I remembered it,” he mourned vaguely, “but I guess hearing you talk about it is almost the same thing...”

In silence they finished the rest of their tea, the Wildmother’s capable hands helping Caduceus to support his mug. The fire was burning low, and the shades of night surrounded the lonely little temple. It was a remote place, but wrapped up in each other, the Wildmother and Caduceus hardly found it lonesome at all.

<><><>

Pain brought Caduceus out of sleep with a whimper.

A distant throbbing ache that disturbed his slumber, coloring his dreams. Vaguely he imagined sitting at banquet tables, starving, but unable to touch the food. Then his mind produced sickened images of hands clawing his stomach apart, revealing maggots that poured from his flesh, as he watched the filth of his own stomach in horror.

Then the nightmare brought him awake with a yelp, the last vivid image of worms and blood imposed on the back of his eyelids...and he discovered it was real...

The pain anyway.

He groaned, curling up around himself, as the nightmare fled and the agony lingered behind. Searing fire ripped sickeningly at his stomach, and he protectively crossed his arms over himself, as if to ward off an attack. But the pain didn’t stop, only spiked again as he bit his lip to keep from sobbing, feeling something warm soak into his night shirt.

Anxiously his fingers clawed down, touching between his legs, and coming away wet. It was warm, and it smelled, a familiar coppery tinge in his nose. He was bleeding. But he hardly had time to process that fact, before sickening nauseous agony warped him out of shape, unable to hide his broken wail of pain.

The Wildmother was awake before he could call for her help, sitting up beside him to loom over him, a dark mass of empathy and concern. Caduceus reached for her with trembling fingers, latching on to the only anchor he could coherently find. As he gripped her arm, keening with desperation, the Mother shushed him, unlatching his hands just long enough to twine with her own.

“It’s time,” she panted in the dark, sounding shaken herself. “They’re ready.”

With a snatch of hurried words, the Wildmother called light. It was blinding after the darkness, appearing above their bed like a golden mote, sending shadows and light in tangled shapes across the floor.

She settled back over him with comforts and whispers, as if somehow she could make the pain go away. But little more than the faint impression of her hand made it into his head, vaguely aware that he was squeezing her fingers so tightly that it hurt. No matter, she gave him the comfort she could anyway.

Caduceus whimpered under wave after wave of pain, each clawing surge twisting his spirit out of shape. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the Wildmother wiped it away, shushing attentively over him though her words brought little comfort. Blood soaked into the sheets, that accompanied each tearing wrench of his flesh.

Whether it was hours or minutes, Caduceus deliriously couldn’t tell. He knew that it went on for longer than he’d thought he could bare anything, viciously dragging at him, as he grew more and more feeble in its grip. The Wildmother’s voice was growing anxious, something wrong warping her tone. She passed her hands over his stomach, gentle warmth bursting beneath her touch, and it brought momentary relief. But after every reprieve, he was more broken than before, the agony making a resurgence as if to rally against the Mother’s healing that beat it back.

Finally, blessedly, he felt a searing flood of fire, that seemed to turn his flesh inside out. But after the pain, he felt one of the Mother’s seeds, one mass of four that had become so swollen together that he’d forgotten they were separate. It was pressing insistently downwards, twisting him painfully, but he weakly he tried to give into it. Suddenly the Mother’s hands were cupped attentively between her legs, waiting for her child to free itself, and she gently pulled the mass from him.

It was a dense lump, deceptively small for all the pain it had caused. Covered in a thin membrane of fleshy sack, slick with blood from Caduceus’s wounded stomach, and undulating as if the creature inside were trying faintly to escape. The Mother immediately bent over it, but Caduceus couldn’t see what she was doing, and stopped trying as the pain returned to strangle him.

Slowly, agonizingly, each small mass detached from his bleeding flesh. In the same way each one pressed from him, making him cry with tortuous effort to release it. Until finally the last three lumps had been carefully extracted, by the Mother’s attentive hands.

Distantly, like an alarm that should have been urgent but was lazy and muted instead, Caduceus knew he was bleeding quite heavily. It was starting to make him dizzy, breathless and delirious, as his pulse quickened, but he couldn’t pay attention to it. The release from pain, tearing fire ebbing away to throbbing irritation, was much more important. He gloried in it, panting with relief, unable to do anything but relax.

The Wildmother’s voice, far away and muffled, made him weakly turn his head in her direction. But he couldn’t understand what she was saying, numbed by the cotton in his ears, and he only smiled at her faintly, hoping that was answer enough. Then her hand pressed over his belly, making him hiss with stinging nerves, as white fire itched through his stomach.

When it faded, Caduceus found he could think much more clearly. The blood appeared to have been stopped, and he could coherently pay attention again. Stubborn muscle ache still lurked in his flesh, but it was an echo of pain now, not the pain itself.

Caduceus gave up trying to function at all. He was too busy trying to recover, gazing mindless at the ceiling, as his body began to relax with the reassurance that the ordeal was over. Finally he found enough energy to locate his voice, mouth dry and papery, throat aching.

“Can I see them?” He rasped faintly.

“The little ones?” The Mother asked, looking at him across the bed. Apparently she’d removed with her children to the other end of the bed.

At the firbolg’s tiny nod, she moved back. Her hands gently scooped up four curled little masses, cupping them carefully, as she sat down at the head of the bed.

“They’re still wet...” she murmured apologetically.

But Caduceus found he couldn’t care. Wet or dry, dirty or clean, he would have treasured them just the same. They were only tiny little creatures, still alarmingly vulnerable, curled up in trembling bundles of fur. At the mere sight of them Caduceus could feel his heart growling protectively, instinctively possessive and careful.

They were slender and frail, covered in soft downy fur, with thin fragile legs like a deer. From the waist up they were mostly humanoid, fur disappearing into smooth more humanoid skin. Their faces, though softened by baby fat, were still alien and sharp in a similar way to the Wildmother, with watery eyes that appeared to not be fully open. Each one had a full head of damp hair, one with curls, and a set of pointed ears.

Caduceus mumbled helplessly, a sound that had no words, no real meaning, just an overflow of stupefied emotion. He reached out, brushing a finger over one of the children’s little velvety ears, starting back when it flicked under his touch. But he couldn’t keep his hands away, and stroked over the little points again, numbly roving from head to head.

“They’re—“ he choked, unable to finish his thought. He looked up to find the Wildmother watching him lovingly, a smile hovering over her own features, and he sobbed helplessly, “they’re so beautiful...”

“Yes they are...” she murmured, her hand settling possessively over one of the heads.

Caduceus reached for her, and the Wildmother settled down, heedless of the damp soiled sheets. Her voice hummed around him, like a mother singing her child to sleep. But this was a calling song, not a sleepy song, and Caduceus listened with a wakeful smile. Within moments he could see what her song was doing, as curling vines and moss touched his back. The bed was writhing, as moss sprang up, and leaves burst to life. Soiled sheets were consumed by vines, the bedstead began to bloom up with leaves. Even the blankets disappeared, either hidden by the growing things, or perhaps transmuted back into the plants they had once been.

Encased in their tiny indoor bower of leaves, Caduceus had eyes for nothing but the Wildmother, and her children. She moved into a mirror of his own body, turned inward, so that the four little bodies were cuddled carefully between them. Their hands clumsily bumped into each other, as they stroked lovingly over the little bodies that were sheltered under their touch. Leaning forward a little more, the Wildmother pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Caduceus broke down beneath it. Happiness and gratitude overwhelming him equally, as he wept into the Wildmother’s embrace. Every bit as much her child, as her other children curled up in tiny sleeping bundles between them.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The rain has moved on, and left a new day. Nothing seems to move everything is still. It's just a perfect day_
> 
> _The shadows and light that move with the wind. Hidden violets grow splashed with summer spray...Just another perfect day..._
> 
> [Perfect Day](https://youtu.be/keBmxDPn3dk), by Miriam Stockley

Summer flourished like a child’s dream of the season.

A shelter of green and golden, protected by the simple enclosure of the temple’s humble plot of land. Broken by gentle showers, the days unfolded like wishful thoughts given reality, each one filled with it’s own business and cares. Caduceus only wished that his constitution rallied quickly enough to fully take advantage of the time, as his frailty quickly claimed a more sedentary pace, unable to keep up with the Wildmother’s wild growth.

She, and her children, were both blooming out of control. The Mother was sun-browned and vigorous, her arms knotted with fully grown roots, her fingers crushing in their strength. At all hours of the day she was moving, spending so much time out in the graveyard garden that she almost lived there. Like a river bursting wildly out of control, she was an unstoppable tide, magnetically drawn to her freedom.

And like any wild animal, unnaturally caged, she chafed at her walls, often vanishing into the woods for long tastes of freedom that might only last an afternoon or keep her away for an entire night. Yet she always returned faithfully in the morning, often bearing strange roots or berries, that she had foraged for their strange amalgamation of a family in her absence.

The children, by contrast, were much weaker, unable to accompany her, or venture far into the sunshine as yet. But they wanted to. Caduceus could tell, in their restless energy, their lingering inhuman looks at the tree-line. Wilderness was a song in their blood.

They grew with almost frightening rapidity. As soon as their eyes opened, they devoured everything with a hungry curiosity, piercing every new stimulus with hawklike focus. Quickly, almost too quickly for Caduceus’s gentle affection, they lost their baby fat and began to gain childlike scrawniness. As soon as they tested their trembling feeble feet to the earth, they were scampering everywhere on dainty cloven hoofs, trying to climb on everything, finding an inexplicable thrill in balancing on the most precarious surfaces. And as each grew, they gained their own individual quirks, and idiosyncrasies, that Caduceus watched unfold with joyous devotion.

Kesa was a spitfire from the start. Growing stronger, faster, and healthier than the rest. With his golden curls, and eyes that burned, he was the first in every game, the leader in every activity. He made a double effort to match his Mother in everything, always the one to mimic her, or try something new because “Mam did it.” Every time the Wildmother stole into the woods, he would linger by the trees, glaring at them as if he could make them move aside simply by looking at them.

Every evening, when the Wildmother finally settled indoors, she would take the young boy on her lap, and ask him what kind of day it would be tomorrow. In the early days, he couldn’t tell, shrugging, or sucking shyly on his thumb. But now he perked up and would confidently declare “cloudy” as if it were a settled thing. Sometimes it was “nice” or “too sunny,” instead, and invariably the next morning would unfold just as he said. The other three all itched with jealousy, demanding to know when it would be their turn, to tell the days what they should be. The Mother would only smile mysteriously, and promise “soon.”

In comparison, Kevat was almost prim. She was quieter than her brother, more retiring, easily frightened and easily amused. She had soft doe brown hair and eyes, with little white spots down her slender legs, and dainty white ankles that contrasted with her black hoofs. She liked to pick flowers to put in her hair, and would tease at Caduceus to braid them in. Her favorite way to please the Wildmother was singing and dancing, and she would bully her siblings into learning intricate dances with her. It was the only time Kesa would ever allow anyone else to tell him what to do, and often broke out quarreling in the middle, until Kevat would angrily tell him they were never going to speak again. But somehow they were always best of friends the next day.

The third child, and next boy, the Wildmother named Syksy. He looked as fiery and rebellious as Kesa acted, with rakish red hair that could never be tamed, and brown skin covered in freckles. But his behavior was calculating, and even taciturn instead. He would often the one to insist that there be rules in their games, and clarification in everything. The other passion he showed an early interest in was questions, drilling Caduceus at all hours of the day, to find out the proper way to dry and cure tea leaves, or extract herbal properties from various roots, or harvest vegetables from the garden.

Of all these, the quietest one, and the child that Caduceus felt a special attachment with, was Talvi. Unlike her brothers and sister, Talvi was markedly frail and weak, always falling just a step behind. She was a uniform snowy white color from the top of her head to the tip of her hoofs, and had white skin that burned easily in the sun, so she often hung back indoors. Caduceus constructed a makeshift kind of shaded umbrella, and then she ventured out cautiously with her shade, and sat where she could watch her siblings and sometimes act as game keeper.

Because of this shy behavior in Talvi, Caduceus quickly struck up a deeper friendship with her than the others. He deeply loved all the Mother’s children, of course, caring for and watching over them vigilantly. But he was too weak, too drained and still recovering, for him to match their energetic growth.

While the other three went to the Wildmother when the wanted a playfellow, and to Caduceus when the wanted a cuddle or a bandage for scrapes, the fragile little Talvi hovered near him almost constantly. In bodily weakness they matched each other, and the girl child’s sensitive disposition made her quick to seek out companionship, finding a more comfortable and quiet friend in Caduceus. She needed amusement just as much as the others, but it was of a softer sort: games on the floor, or stories, or small tasks where she could work with her hands.

So when Caduceus settled down with the four of them in the garden, laid out under the stars, it was Talvi who confidingly nuzzled in and rested her head on his shoulder. The Wildmother had gone wandering again, and this time Kesa had been so chafed and restless, that instead of asking him to come indoors, Caduceus suggested they all sleep outside instead. It was an idea that instantly took root, and the three stronger children helped haul out blankets and pillows into the garden, while Talvi arranged them on the grass.

Finally they had a little blanket nest, and slowly they began to settle in. Talvi came to him first, and took the most intimate place, but the others all scooted in also. Kevat wormed her way under Caduceus’s arm until it was draped over her, Syksy curled up with his back pressed into Caduceus’s side, and Kesa propped his head up with Caduceus’s leg as a pillow. The firbolg smiled shakily, mentally thanking the Wildmother, though she wasn’t there, for all the gifts she’d given him.

Gifts. Because there couldn’t be a single thing he’d done to deserve this.

“Caddy?” The sweet voice of Talvi quavered, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear it.

“Yes?” He said, extracting his free hand from the blankets, so he could awkwardly stroke the girl’s pale hair.

“Are you my father?” She asked, with childlike straightforwardness.

The bluntness of the question made Caduceus choke, flushing self consciously, tongue tied and unable to divine an answer. Truthfully, there were times when he wasn’t sure himself. Because this felt like being a parent, looked like everything his mother and father had ever done for him, now being repeated in his own actions, but he didn’t know. The Mother had never said, and he had never asked.

“Because...Mam is my mother, yes?” Talvi asked, still speaking.

“Of course.” Caduceus said, happy to have a fact he could confirm without any doubts in his mind. “She’s your mother.”

“Sometimes you act like she’s your mother too...” the girl said in a confused voice. “But sometimes you’re...different with her...and I don’t know which is which.”

None of the other’s had spoken yet, but Caduceus could tell from the tension in the air that they were listening closely. Obviously this was important. Talvi was just the first to speak, giving voice to something they all wanted to know. That was intimidating, and Caduceus carefully pondered his answer.

“Well...” He began carefully, weighing his words. “You know what your mother is, right? She’s a goddess. A...creator. That’s like a queen, but bigger, I guess. She makes the woods grow, and the wind and rain, and everything else. Because she owns it, and is part of it.”

“Does that make me a goddess then?” Kesa suddenly put in, sitting up as he spoke, his voice bright with eager interest.

“Well that doesn’t make sense, because you’re a boy.” Syksy said, his young voice so scholarly and serious, that Caduceus couldn’t help smiling in amusement at the sober words coming out of the youthful mouth. “You’d have to be a god, not a goddess. Because goddesses are the girls. Like Mam is a girl.”

“I want to be a goddess though,” Kesa sulked. “That sounds so much majesticer. And I want to be just like Mam.”

“That’s not how you say majestic either...” Syksy grumbled.

“You can be a goddess I suppose,” Caduceus interposed, trying to intervene in what might become a full fledged argument. “If your mother says you can be.”

“I’ll ask,” Kesa declared, with boyish confidence in his fitness for the role.

Silence fell. Syksy had apparently given up on his brother, and both the girls were quiet. Caduceus let himself drift into the field of stars overhead, blazing brightly because there were no clouds, and almost forgot about the conversation before Talvi spoke again.

“You’re not like Mam,” she said softly, her voice muffled against Caduceus’s shoulder. But for all her shyness, it wasn’t a question.

“No...” he agreed, blinking as he returned from the sky to ground himself in his own body instead. “I’m not.”

“What are you then?” She asked.

“I’m her follower.” Caduceus explained, wishing there were a simple way to make the girl next to him understand. “I’m...well...I pray to her, and worship her. She’s not exactly my mother, because she is a Mother to every living thing, but...she takes care of me.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Caduceus frowned, and for a moment his eyes burned. She was only a child, but somehow Talvi was striking right at the heart of things, asking questions that exposed the root of him. It was an uncomfortable gift of her introspective nature.

“I suppose so,” he admitted softly, knowing how useless it would be to lie. Talvi was far too insightful for that. “At least...she allows me to be...”

“Does she love you back?” Talvi asked, once again innocently disturbing the surface of waters that went much deeper than her young mind imagined.

“You know...I don’t know...” Caduceus said, still jovial and absent as ever, though the meaning of his words made his heart twist in a way his voice didn’t. “She’s...sorta bigger than that, you know? Too big for it. If she’s in love with me, then she’s in love with every one of her followers, and that’s a big love. A lot to carry. Doesn’t mean it isn’t earnest, or that she doesn’t love truly, just...She loves a lot of people. Not just me.”

A silence fell, careful, and almost awkward. Like the quiet was fragile glass, that none of the children wanted to break, and ended up being cupped in cautious fingers. Then Talvi broke it, with a surprisingly genuine, “I’m sorry...”

“Don’t worry about me,” Caduceus reassured, shaking himself to clear his thoughts. “I said I wanted it. And maybe I didn’t know exactly what it would be like...but still, now that I do, I’d gladly do it over again. It’s been worth it.”

“Well...” Talvi hesitated, picking at the hem of Caduceus’s shirt, with her slender white fingers. When she finally spoke, after the firbolg had almost given up waiting for the words, it was in a shrinking but genuine whisper. “I love you...”

The other three all murmured their agreement, even Kevat, who had been so quiet Caduceus thought she was asleep. But she pinched at his arm, as Kesa nodded, and Syksy wiggled to press more firmly against Caduceus. The open declaration burned in Caduceus’s ears, warm in his throat, and wet in his eyes, making him blink and clear his throat to get a hold of himself.

“That’s—well—“ he stammered, at a loss for words. “That’s...very nice...”

Talvi squeezed around his shoulder. And in the ensuing, much warmer silence, Caduceus realized what he really thought. It was the truth that made it simple, that finally explained, that made it clear, even if it was just for himself.

“I love you too.” He confessed. “Not like Mam can love, I’m sure, because she’s so much bigger than me. But I do love you all, in my way. And maybe by most standards, I wouldn’t be your father, but that doesn’t matter to me.”

He pressed his arm around Talvi, squeezing her tightly for a moment, before he finished his thought. “I choose to love you just the same as if I was.”

“Yeah?” She asked quietly, her cheek rasping against his fur, as she turned her face to examine his profile.

“Yeah.” Caduceus said in confirmation, aware of her eyes on him as he stargazed, and he tried vaguely to make himself look as earnest as he felt.

“Then I choose to love you just the same too,” Talvi decided, her voice bright with a child’s innocent affection.

The conversation faded away, ending sweetly on that note. Listening closely, Caduceus could hear the sound of the breathing around him turning gentle. One by one, they dropped off, each one slipping away into sleep, until Caduceus was sure even Talvi had fallen asleep.

But she hadn’t.

Because she suddenly stirred against his shoulder, and wriggled forward to whisper in his ear. “I love you, Tad.” Then she darted away to curl up so tightly, that Caduceus couldn’t say anything in return.

In the end, even Talvi’s breathing relaxed, turning warm and sleepy. But Caduceus traced out the constellations, in no hurry to go to sleep, treasuring the seconds that slipped by all too quickly. And time, as it always does when you try to make it last, trickled away with unheard of rapidity.

Hold these moments close, little children, for they slip between our fingers all too easily.

<><><>

Nothing more was said on the subject of parents, and no one acknowledged it...but Caduceus was quite firmly Tad, from that night onward.

Instead of “Caddy, look at this bug!” Or “Caddy, can I please have more honey? Please, please, please?” It was “Tad, can you fix my fishing pole?” accompanied by a broken stick with twine on one end, poked into his face. Or “Tad, lookit how high I am! That’s two branches higher than yesterday!” while leaning quite precariously on a twig that looked too thin to hold the climber’s weight.

At first it made Caduceus jump with surprised gratification, every time he heard his new name. But soon it gained a measure of warm familiarity. And that was gratifying in a different way, making him swell with pleasure to see how quickly his new title became part of the routine, all the dearer because it was so casually normal.

Even the Wildmother took up the name, and for half a golden summer, Caduceus’s ties with this new family were as solid as steel, and as gentle as silk.

<><><>

“Why all the blue faces?” Caduceus asked, pausing in the temple door, to look over the children sitting on the front step.

Kevat, Syksy, and Talvi, were sitting shoulder to shoulder, in listless attitudes of boredom. Kevat was absently picking a flower to pieces, plucking a new one from her hair, when the old was divested of petals. Talvi was picking up little pebbles, and cupping them between her hands, blowing into her closed palms. After each puff of air, the rock reappeared glittering with frost, and Syksy was throwing the chilled rocks into the grass as Talvi handed them over. Altogether, they looked remarkably dull, and dispirited.

“You’ve all got rainy faces, when it’s a perfectly sunny day,” Caduceus said, laughing at their somberness.

“Nothing to do,” Kevat said in an empty voice, tossing away her latest ruined flower stem.

Ambling out to sit on the step, Caduceus said cheerfully, “I’m sure Kesa can think of something. He’s always got some new game doesn’t he?”

When only silence answered him, he looked over at the three children with a frown. Then he realized the gap.

“Where is your brother anyway?”

Syksy only shrugged, and Kevat glanced fleetingly at the treeline. That look was all the answer that Caduceus needed, but Talvi’s voice gave it audible form too. “He’s gone. Mam took him into the woods this morning...”

A shard of ice chilled Caduceus’s heart, though the day was still sunny, and he shivered as if it was suddenly cold. With the sunlit days, and whirl of children’s lively chatter, his foreboding chill had almost thawed completely. But now the frost gripped crystals into his heart, as if it had never melted at all.

“_When my children can follow...then_...”

Caduceus shuddered.

It was suddenly hard to breathe, around the winter chill in his chest, but Caduceus forced himself to unbend. The smile on his face felt forced, and his hands shook until he curled them into fists, but he forced himself to laugh none the less.

“Well,” he chuckled halfheartedly, “I think we’re all a little blue now...Why don’t we have a bit of a selfish day...”

The children glanced at him suspiciously, half intrigued, but still burdened by their downcast spirits. Caduceus grinned, and explained temptingly. “We can make some biscuits, and I’ll allow you to have more than one, just this once.”

Kevat smiled, the expression watery and reluctant, but it was there. The Wildmother’s children or not, they were still in fact children. And like any mortal youngsters, the idea of sweeties was enticing.

“Come on,” Caduceus said kindly, reaching down to ask for Syksy’s hand. “My firbolg mother always used to say that a little work is the best medicine, when you’re blue, and if you take it, pretty soon you’ll feel alright again. So lets cook something, and I’m sure we’ll find our smiles again along the way...”

“It just feels sad without him,” Syksy explained, as he took Caduceus’s hand, and the firbolg helped him up.

“I know.” Caducues agreed.

And he did. More sincerely than the redheaded boy could know. With his empty temple, and the echoes of beloved voices that had fallen silent one by one, Caduceus understood with a painful clarity that went deeper than any of the three children knew. He was the last watcher of many sentinels. He had bid farewell to many turned backs, had heard many promising voices saying they would soon return, and had silently counted as the number of broken vows grew.

He understood.

“It’s hard,” he said, speaking from painfully learned wisdom. “But wishing them back doesn’t make it easier to be without them, so we have to keep on living somehow. I’ll show you the trick of it. And anyway...a little tea never hurt anyone...”

<><><>

Kesa and the Wildmother were back the next morning, sleeping on their bedrolls as if they’d never left, obviously returned during the night. Just the same as every other morning since the beginning of summer.

But not the same.

The fire eyed summer child was different...wilder. In the space of one expedition into the woods, he’d changed, growing more vigorous and more distant at the same time. Caduceus caught him casting burning, half feral, glances at the edge of the woods. As if his one taste of freedom had completely untamed him, all ties with the temple and it’s restrictive safety, no longer enough to hold him.

He regaled the others with wild stories, exuberantly pouring out tales of his wanderings at his mother’s side. He told of strange trees, stony ravines, icy mountain peaks, and encounters with wild animals, while his siblings listened with wrapt attention. Kevat and Syksy were spellbound, their shining eyes and jealous comments, illustrating their wild longing in a way that Caduceus found unmistakable. While Talvi listened with shrinking hesitance, looking alarmed by the description of strange places, and dismayed at the idea of meeting wild animals.

With such a ferment of longing hanging in the air, pervading the temple to every corner, it was no surprise to Caduceus at all, when the next disappearance came. Syksy was the next to follow after his mother, stealing after his mother and brother, as the sun rose. Caduceus watched them with a sinking heart, and had a full afternoon keeping Kevat and Talvi busy and entertained enough to stay cheerful.

When they returned, just in time for breakfast the next morning, Syksy had changed in the same way. He was graver than before, more withdrawn and thoughtful, speaking less than he had. Instead of asking about the proper way to make pickles, he plied Caduceus with questions about things the firbolg had never heard of. He wanted to know how to find bird’s nests, and which trees were which, and how to harvest woodland herbs by recognizing the shape of their leaves. Caduceus answered when he could, but much as he loved nature, his knowledge of it was far from detailed. The curious boy quickly grew dissatisfied with answers that weren’t detailed enough, and turned on his mother instead, devouring her teachings with a voracious desire for knowledge.

It took Kevat several days to follow in her brother’s footsteps, but Caduceus woke to find her bedroll empty, early one morning several days later. The temple was markedly quiet, with four of its occupants absent, and the remaining Caduceus and Talvi were ill equipped to fill such a silence by themselves.

In the end they spent most of the day out in the garden, where the open air and nature sounds were less empty, than a cold temple floor. As if to reassure him that she was still faithfully affectionate, Talvi clung persistently to Caduceus’s side the whole day, her confiding quiet hovering near him like a white shadow. She helped him harvest some of the tealeaves, both of them working slowly because neither of them was especially fit, then they settled to a picnic in the grass. Gathering red and yellow leaves, she made a crown of them, that she presented to Caduceus with a smile.

The Wildmother, with Kesa, Syksy, and Kevat in her shadow, returned later that afternoon, just as the sun was going down, slipping back into the temple garden in the dusky twilight. Caduceus greeted the Mother with the same open hearted devotion he always did, settling down to an evening meal with a heavy heart, trying not to notice the way Kevat now had strange flowers woven into her hair instead of the temple’s simple daisies.

It was just Talvi now.

<><><>

Long days went by, and Caduceus began to wonder quietly if Talvi was going to follow her mother at all, or if they would still be with him in the autumn. Which was approaching slowly. Not outright fall yet, but summer had a cooler crisp to the air, a yellowing of leaves. It couldn’t be long before the full autumn season made itself apparent.

Caduceus was weeding in the vegetable garden, slowly, with the children getting much more done than him, when the Wildmother came from the temple. She said nothing, but Kesa, Kevat, and Syksy all cheered at the sight of her, bouncing with excitement, and the firbolg saw Kevat give Talvi a meaningful nudge. The Wildmother stopped over Caduceus, towering above him even at full hight, and from a kneeling position absolutely gigantic. Even all that glory bent down, and she planted a kiss on the top of his head, just as she ever had.

Neither of them said anything. Caduceus because it hurt too much, and the Wildmother because she perceived his pain, and didn’t antagonize it. Then she took Kesa’s hand, and walked toward the treeline. Even Talvi followed this time, last in the row, plodding resignedly. One by one, they disappeared into the trees, until Talvi cast one glance back, and then vanished.

Caduceus could do little more than stand frozen in place. The world swayed dull beneath his feet, the sunlight all wrong, and the air too hot but cold at the same time. But he couldn’t move. It felt like he would never move again. Either he was turned to stone, or the world around him was frozen, unfeeling either way.

Then a patter of rustling footsteps, and Talvi burst from the trees. She tripped over a bush, but was up again in almost the same moment, diving forward to fling herself against Caduceus and wrap her arms around his rail thin waist. And she was shaking, he could feel it, almost sobbing, as she squeezed him tight enough to crush him.

“Hey...hey...” the firbolg tried to say soothingly, both his hands settling awkwardly against the top of her head, pressed into his stomach.

Carefully, he guided the girl over, until they could settle under the apple tree. She went, obviously still unwilling to show her face, from the way she kept her head bowed. So Caduceus just sat, and let her curl in against him, until she was a small hump under his arm. He just waited, leaning his head against the tree to look at it’s leaves, shifting above them in the breeze.

“I don’t want to go...” Talvi confided softly, after ten minutes of silence.

Caduceus said nothing. With Talvi it was better to wait for her thoughts to unfold, so he just stroked her hair, pale snowy white and soft under his fingertips.

“I like it here,” she said plaintively, curling her fingers into his shirt. “It’s safer. And it’s small. The woods are so big, and I don’t know what they’re like. I just want to be here...where everything’s familiar...”

“You know your mother would take care of you...”

“But I like it here. Why would I go somewhere else, if I like it here?”

Looking down at her, Caduceus knew the answer. Even if it didn’t help him, even if it wasn’t what he wanted, anymore than she did. It was still the truth. And if he didn’t want to be a liar, than it was his job to say it.

“It’s too small for you, Talvi.” He murmured sadly. “The more you grow, the less you’ll fit, and you can’t stay somewhere if you’re too big for it...”

“I don’t want to grow.” The pale girl admitted in a despairing voice. “I don’t want to change. Why can’t I always be the same age, and never have to worry about anything? I’m happy this way, and I want to stay. With you, and Mam, and the others.”

“Sweetheart...”

“They’re all different than before,” she went on, pouring out her small hurts now that she had begun to voice her thoughts. “They don’t want to play anymore, or pretend anymore, or be little again. They just want to grow up, and be big, and stupid, and boring. So I’m always left behind. I’m always last. And everybody leaves me, except you, because I don’t want to go when they do. So I want to stay...it’s nice with you Tad...”

Caduceus’s chest ached, wrenched in a vice, while his eyes burned. He could tell that the little girl under his arm was truly weeping now, sniffling and wiping her runny nose on his shirt. So he took her shoulders, and pulled her into his lap, until he could fully encircle his arms around her, and she hid her face against his shoulder.

And he soothed her. Because he knew her pain all too well, could relate from bitter experience, and gave her the comfort he’d always wished for. Was still wishing for. But like it or not, Caduceus was a giver, and always had been. He was a servant to the core of his being, an open spirit that tirelessly gives of itself, until it has given all its possessions to others.

So he gave, because it was not in his nature to take.

“I know it’s hard, but that doesn’t make it go away.” He tried clumsily to explain, putting words to his own hard earned knowledge, in a way he’d never spoken it before. “We all have to grow up, and it just hurts to try and keep it from happening. But that...doesn’t mean you have to stop enjoying the person you used to be. We all keep little bits of ourselves when we grow up. It’s like, we get bigger...and we have more room for new things to go inside of ourselves, right beside the old, and we can enjoy them together.”

“I don’t get it...” Talvi said, with a watery chuckle, and a sheepish smile.

“Maybe you can’t. Until you try it, and see for yourself.” He grinned sadly back. “All I know is some of the best grown ups I ever met, were people that were more childlike after they grew up, than when they were actually children. They kept something alive. Something that likes stories, and likes to play, and likes to pretend still. Nobody took it from them.”

“It’s just hard...” Talvi said, her words an agreement, not a protest. “And scary.”

“Yeah...yeah it is...”

For a moment there was silence. In it, Caduceus looked at this girl. This little treasure, that somehow called him father, that somehow looked to him for advice, somehow thought he was at all worthy of any of this...and he knew exactly what he had to say. What he had to know, if his knowledge was worth anything.

It hurt his heart to do this, to know that he was the one pushing away everything he wanted. A little selfish word, a little taking, right at this moment, would keep him secure. He could reach out and have it. Talvi would stay, and the Wildmother would stay, and he wouldn’t be alone again. But it was out of time, out of day, out of season. And fruit left on the branch, never stayed ripe.

“I’m not a very good teacher, dear,” he apologized softly. “But if I could teach you anything...I would tell you not to wait. Go before it’s too late, and grow before you get too big to stay.” His eyes burned with the words, and Talvi was sitting on his lap, but he was really speaking to himself, acknowledging his road for the path it was. “It feels easier at first, but the more you go on, the harder it gets to do anything else. Until you know the road’s too narrow, but it’s so deep you can’t get out of it, and you’re following a little thread. Waiting feels good, but you loose the reward, in the end. So don’t wait...don’t be last...”

“Okay.” Talvi mumbled, nodding against his chest.

And Caduceus knew his work was done. His work, because in the end, he’d been the hand of his own denial. It was his words, and no others, that would lead to his fall. For Talvi, and the other children he loved as fiercely as if they belonged to him...he would endure much greater pains without hesitation.

So he gave Talvi the warning he’d never been given, knowing that because of it, she wouldn’t stay.

The Wildmother returned in an hour, slipping back into his life for one more bittersweet day. But he knew it was the last day. Watching Talvi, as she lingered by the trees, and for the first time looked at them as a challenge to surmount, instead of her fence keeping her safe, Caduceus knew. The words had been spoken, and he couldn’t unsay them. So whether he was ready or not, he’d equipped Talvi to be, and the end of ends was coming on fast and inevitable.

Yes, the children were more affectionate than usual, as if to make up for the parting that was coming. But that didn’t change fate. Yes, the Wildmother was devoted to him for one night, full of absent kisses and interlaced hands. But that didn’t make her any more his than she’d been before, the fullness of her too big to belong to him. Yes, they settled down in a tangle of blankets and pillows on the floor, with the Wildmother holding him secured against her chest until he fell asleep. But Caduceus knew even as his eyes were closing, that he would open them to find his arms empty, and his back chilled without the Mother to shelter him.

And yes, it was his own words, his own open arms that had accepted this all those months ago in the last days of winter...But that didn’t make it any easier to accept the last bitter dregs of the draft he’d chosen to drink from.


	4. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dark the stars and dark the moon. Hush the night and the morning loon. Tell the horses and beat on your drum. Gone their master, gone their son._
> 
> _Dark the oceans, dark the sky. Hush the whales and the ocean tide. Tell the salt marsh and beat on your drum. Gone their master, gone their son._
> 
> _Dark to light and light to dark. Three black carriages, three white carts. What brings us together is what pulls us apart. Gone our brother, gone our heart._
> 
> [Gone](https://youtu.be/wU4bXx_k4d4), by Ionna Gika

It was Fall.

Caduceus knew it, before he’d even come fully awake. The season had changed during the night, just as abruptly as it had changed from winter to spring, and spring to summer. The air was cold, and clean, and sharp. The wind was blowing strongly enough to whistle through the wooden shutters over the temple’s windows. It was most definitely fall.

And the blanket nest around him was empty.

Part of him didn’t want to open his eyes, and see what he instinctively knew was true, but he forced himself to do it. The lumpy shapes of pillows were cold, with no heads on them. The blankets were collapsed, with no figures lying underneath them. And his body was chilled, from kicking off his blanket in his sleep, with no other body to warm or comfort him.

Then, and only then, Caduceus cried. Pain had never wrung the tears from him. Not when he was alone, the last keeper of the little temple, and realized sadly that he was left behind. No tears had fallen through all the months of painful carrying, when the children devoured the strength from his flesh more quickly than he could nourish it, or when they’d finally been brought into the world with blood and agony. When he’d slowly lost them one by one, relinquishing first Kesa, then Syksy, Kevat, and at last sweet little Talvi, he’d watched the drift with a grim lack of tears.

But he woke to an empty bed, and he wasn’t a father anymore. Just a child. A lost and lonely child, pouring out their woes to unfeeling walls, as he mourned another family come and gone.

It was selfish to weep for himself, when he knew it was for the best. Selfish to want them, when he knew it was not a way the Wildmother could live, or his children thrive. Maybe it was self centered to feel unhappy, when there were so many other people hurting in the world. He had a home still, had food, and bedding, and shelter. Even little luxuries like tea. Other people didn’t even have those blessings. But for once, he allowed himself to be selfish, and cried as if his pain were the only important thing in the world.

He was tired of hurting.

It didn’t last long. For better or worse, it was not Caduceus’s nature to dwell on pain, even if a little harmless egotism would have made him more likely to cry out for help. Like it or not, he was unfailingly an optimist, a man with silver linings. He couldn’t even properly despair for more than a few minutes, before his practical nature was dragging him up half against his will, forcing him to look on the bright side.

So he made himself crawl out of bed, and just far enough to reach the kettle.

For a moment his heart sank at the idea of fetching water. In that moment it was an effort that felt insurmountable, and his heart quailed again and the idea of forcing himself to move so far. But it turned out not to be necessary. The kettle was full. Heavy with water, and hanging just as it should be over the fireplace, waiting to be heated.

The Wildmother had filled his kettle to be ready for tea.

It was such a small thing, but it crushed him all over again. Sobbing brokenly over a battered iron kettle, clutching the old thing in his arms. He hugged the kettle to his chest, as if he were clinging to it like a rock in stormy seas, and showered the inanimate teapot with tears.

Finally, he managed to relinquish the kettle, and hang it back on it’s hook. A warm tingle of magic made the fire burst to life, and he watched it with unusual impatience, waiting for the water to boil. Then he carefully brewed a cup of tea, anchoring himself to the present by fixating on every tiny detail. It was the most conscientious and precise cup of tea he’d ever brewed.

It hurt to meditate. Meditation was prayer, and prayer was the Wildmother, and the Wildmother was almost unimaginable pain. So he concentrated on the tea instead. Mentally noted its rich flavors, describing its aroma in new words, though he could hardly even taste it. He concentrated on everything and anything that was not devotion. Because devotion was worship, and worship was the Wildmother, and the Wildmother was an empty hole in his chest, that nothing else had every been enough to fill, or ever would be again.

He thought about the garden, and that was fairly comforting. If it was autumn, that meant that there was much to do. It was always a mad scramble of work, to be settled down tight for the winter, warm and secure and supplied.

And his mother had been right. Work could be a refuge when everything else was out of place.

The tea was drained away, and Caduceus realized he was staring vacantly at the bottom of his empty cup. So he forced himself to shake it off, and numbly moved to clean up the temple. Because they were gone, and there was no need to have one giant blanket nest on the floor, now that there was only one, and he had a bed. The pillows were put back on his bed, and he was about to fold up the blankets, but that was wrong.

He needed more to do.

So he washed them. Carefully scrubbing all the sheets, and blankets, in the cold water of the stream. Then he hung them up, and devoted himself to weeding, because there were always little intruders sprouting in his garden. After even the smallest weeds were eradicated, he began sifting pebbles out of the earthy mulch, telling himself that the tiny rocks would make it hard for things to grow.

Finally, covered in dirt from head to toe, bearing armfuls of clean blankets in his arms, he marched back into the temple. Where he blindly tumbled into bed, without washing up, smearing garden mud on his freshly laundered bedsheets. He fell asleep, finding comfort in oblivion, heedless of the dirt...

He would wash them again tomorrow...

<><><>

The fall harvest came and went. The apples were picked and stored, some of them dried, others carefully packed away. Caduceus dug up the potatoes, heedless of the dirt. His pumpkins and other squashes were some of the finest specimens he’d ever seen.

Mindlessly driven, Caduceus had more than enough to keep him blessedly busy, working at all hours of the day, regardless of sunshine or rain. If it was fair, he was in the garden, attending to the plants systematically as they came into season. If it rained, he was fervent with energy indoors, getting his newly harvested greens ready to store by cutting, washing, wrapping, fermenting, and jamming everything he could reach.

It was one of the most generous stores he’d ever laid by. More than enough to get him through the winter. Even more than he could probably eat by himself, with his modest to nonexistent appetite. But it was good. Good to be busy, good to be productive.

His harvest of healthy distraction was a much more valuable one.


	5. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My one heart hurt another, so only one life can't be enough. Can you give me just another, for that one who got away. If one heart can mend another, only then can we begin. So won't you hold on a little longer? Don't let them get away._
> 
> _Lonely I...I'm so alone now..._
> 
> _There'll be no rest for the wicked. There's no song for the choir. There's no hope for the weary. If you let them win without a fight. I let my good one down, I let my true love die...I had his heart but I broke it every time..._
> 
> As a theme for the Nein, I chose [No Rest For the Wicked](https://youtu.be/4yUGDSX76Nw), by Lykke Li

When Caduceus blinked awake to find the morning already wakeful, and almost dare he say...expectant...He felt a little afraid to think about it.

A Waiting day then...

The time felt, odd. A little bit urgent honestly. He hadn’t felt the need to hurry about anything in a long, long time, but now the beat was insistent at the back of his head. No time to loose. No time to waste. He had to be up and doing.

Gangle limbed and bedheaded, Caduceus tumbled out of his blankets. The waiting days were important. There was routine, order, discipline to be maintained. And for some reason, this one felt important.

He was expecting guests.

And it was important to be ready, so he hurried himself to dress. But the usual clothes didn’t feel right. Too underdressed, over dressed, or not right in some way? Then he looked down at himself, and realized what was missing. His armor. It had been so long since he’d felt any need to wear it, or even thought about it, tucked away at the bottom of his chest. But it was only right today. It was the missing piece, sure and certain.

The armor, when he dug it out, dusty and unused beneath his other clothes, was no longer pristine. Creeping pink lichens were growing on it, and Caduceus paused with his head on one side to look at it. But after all...why not? They were living things after all, and living things had their place. Maybe he hadn’t intended for the mosses to grow there, but they were there now, and it would be against the natural order of things to remove them.

So he let them be, and began struggling into the armor without cleaning it up. That felt like the right thing to do. It had been so long since he’d warn the armor at all, that it took him some time to get reacquainted with it. Fiddling with the buckles, shifting pieces, and generally all elbows, until he’d found the right way to make them fit again. As it was, he almost put the leg guards on upside down, until he realized his mistake, and corrected himself.

Everything was hurry, hurry, hurry. As he made the bed, and dusted the temple. As he filled the kettle with water, waiting to be heated, and looked over his cups. One of them had broken ages ago...Kesa batting nuts into it with a club like stick, until it cracked...Caduceus smiled at the memory, now that he wasn’t dismayed by the loss of an heirloom pottery piece that had belonged to the temple since before he was born.

He blinked to himself with the old familiar twist of dull pain in his chest, standing frozen in front of the dishes. How long had he been thinking? Wasting time! Scolding himself for forgetting what he was doing, he went back to looking over the mugs.

It was too bad, but with one for himself, and one of them broken seasons ago...that only left three for guests. Pity. He would just have to hope there wouldn’t be many visitors this time, or he would only have a poor excuse for hosting to offer.

With these small matters attended to, Caduceus went to see about the grave.

There really wasn’t much room these days. With the way his modest vegetable garden claimed space, it would be a tight squeeze. But it was possible. And if the worst came to the worst, he could always uproot part of the garden to make room. Some of the turnips perhaps, because he really didn’t care for turnips, and could do without them.

Still. One had to hope there would only be one grave. It was so sad, when the guests came with more than one dearly departed, to be respectfully interred. Such a loss. He ached with sympathy at those times. And it was even worse with children. He’d only been present for the addition of one small grave, in his time as keeper, and that was long before the Wildmother had blessed him with her children. Burying a child, while knowing what loving and caring for such a child was like...he wasn’t sure he could meet such a challenge now.

After picking out the most advantageous place for a perspective grave, Caduceus had little to do, but gather tea for the guests. Half an hour’s quiet solace produced a small cheesecloth, full of narrow waxy leaves, of a dark green color. Verrian. Nice herbal blend, very mellow and soothing. Just the thing.

Bearing his herbs, the firbolg ambled back into the temple, and settled into his usual steeping process. The water began heating over the fire he kindled, with the help of a little innocent magic, and he settled to prepare the leaves. This particular tea blend was tricky, because the waxy outside of the leaves could make the finished cup extremely bitter, if it wasn’t stripped off. So he carefully scored the surface of every leaf with a metal rasp he’d made, just for the purpose, until they were soft and the fleshy insides were exposed.

Once he’d finished preparing the tealeaves, his pot was just coming to boil. So he poured himself a mug. Just to test the blend, and make sure it was proper for guests.

But as the boiling water was streaming into the mug, with the partially shredded tea blend floating on top, a loud noise nearly made him spill it and burn himself. First a squeaky cry, a crashing sound of uprooting wood and brambles, and then a loud yelp.

Well that was odd...

Now that he was listening closely, he could vaguely hear the sound of voices, obviously trying to be quiet but argue at the same time. For a bemused moment Caduceus wondered what kind of guests could possibly be making such a racket, and why they didn’t just knock. But, regardless, it was his part to be a kind host, no matter how odd the guests might be.

With a sigh, Caduceus clambered to his feet, snagging his mug to bring along, as he went to go see who was waiting outside. Carefully pushing through the door, Caduceus looked down the front steps, gazing at the haphazard group of people.

The first odd thing was the goblin girl, lying flat on her back, with her cloak snagged on a bush. He hoped with gentle concern that her tugging hadn’t disturbed the Lytheirs...they did like to catch on everything, and Caduceus had learned to tread carefully around that particular family site, just out of habit. Which unfortunately the girl hadn’t known.

Beyond that, he could see a scattering of heads, poking up over the top of gravestones, like little children trying to play hide and seek. That was another odd thing, because Caduceus couldn’t imagine what they were possibly hiding from. It was here that they were safe, shielded from the wood, not the other way round. But the last thing he noticed was the most important...There was more than three of them...

Bother.

“I think I’ve only got...three more cups.” Caduceus said, absently friendly, as he got distracted reviewing his number and finding it indeed correct. “Hold on...”

With this excuse, Caduceus ducked back into the temple. They might want to sit outside, and that meant bringing the kettle along as well. Fetching the kettle, and a holder for it, Caduceus returned to the sunshine. As he began to set it up, tapping the bottom of the pot with a little magic to keep it warm, his furtive visitors began to gather closer.

One look at them, and Caduceus knew he would need a different tea blend. Verrian had been entirely the wrong choice. They needed something sweeter, more colorful...and not just because they were such an odd collection of characters. It was in their faces too.

Grieving.

He could see it in them, as they drifted closer to him, like bees drawn toward honey. They were mourning. Some more than others, but all of them in some form or another. This was a time for him to be gentle, to be careful, to speak slowly...and then only with meaning. It was what they needed. And being the temple’s keeper, he was there to serve.  
With the hot water set at a moment’s notice, Caduceus returned to fetch the cups. And as he’d feared, there wouldn’t be enough...maybe they could share or something...All that was left was to choose the tea, and Caduceus decided after only a cursory glance that Castala would be just perfect. Nice and sweet, good berry and nectar flavors, lovely violet color.

As he turned away, and ambled off into the garden, searching for the right blooms, the little goblin girl quavered uncertainly behind him.

“Can we tag along? Do you need anything? Need any help there...mister...missus?”

“Mister Clay.” The firbolg explained absently. “And uh—no that’s fine...One second...”

Slipping off into the shrubs and vines, Caduceus made a roundabout circle to the tea blend he was searching for. A blooming creeper, growing on the side of an extremely tall gravestone, that was so heavy with its own blooms that the vines and tendrils were all pulled downward. Each flower was like a delicate bell, with long red filaments that rolled into gentle curlicues below the flower’s opening, and the red and purple blooms were giving of a faint sugary smell that made the air sweet around that particular grave.

As Caduceus began carefully selecting blooms that would make the best tea, he cast careful glances back at the strangers, who were now beginning to circle up around his kettle. That was partly just curiosity of course, he hardly ever saw people, especially these days, and it was entertaining to discover their differences. But his sharp eyes had a practical purpose too. People in grief always did their mourning in different ways, and it was important to know how they shed their tears, because each way required a different approach to comfort.

The firbolg lady...she had the nicest face at first glance. Obviously a mother. She was too sweet, too gentle, and too watchful over the rest of the group to be anything else. Now that he’d brought the kettle into the open air, she appeared quite unafraid, smiling with the customary warmth he’d felt from all his kind. But a little wrong. Something sour underneath, just a touch of bitter around her. Like a rose with it’s thorns. She was a bee, capable of both stings and honey, if Caduceus’s perception was worth anything at all.

She’d want practicality. Less interested in grief, than in doing something about it.

The next one his eyes fell on, was a human woman. She was wearing blue, all color coordinated and matched with the sky...that was nice...But her wrist wraps had blood on them. Caduceus knew the distinctive stains. Everything about her was rebellion, walls, and threats to get close. But Caduceus knew as soon as she moved, that it was a front. The way she immediately stepped forward, keeping a protective half step behind the gentle firbolg woman, as if to watch and guard her from behind. It was all plain as day. She had a big heart, and all the sharp edges were just to hide it.

Averted eyes then. No one to watch, and someone safe to open up with.

Both the short ones, the dwarven ruffian, and the goblin girl—he’d never seen one of those before—were strangely similar and different. While the goblin was openly nervous, her eyes constantly roving, sizing him up from head to toe, the other one was fearful too. Half wild, angry and scared at the same time. The heavy armor, the dangerous weapons worn openly, were all shields, self protections. A Runner. He decided, looking at her, as she clanked up to a seat on a gravestone. She needed a place to find support, that she could count on.

That was interesting to notice, because the goblin girl was different. It was there in her furtive movements, her subtle coil of muscles, the intimidated challenge in her eyes. She was a nervous one, but a fighter at the same time. A backstabber. She needed things to take care of. A job to do, and do well.

Someone to keep under her wing.

Honestly, she reminded him of his mother. The sort to avoid conflict at all costs, but fight dirty, and fight ruthlessly, if it came to protecting...what?

The other human, Caduceus realized. The way she drifted closer to him, as if to feel his space, assure herself of his proximity. And the faint challenge in her eyes when she stood so close to her human friend, daring Caduceus too get close, or act aggressively. She was as watchful as a mother bear, guarding one oversized, and extremely ragged cub. It made Caduceus interested to see what the other human was like, scanning him quickly.

As soon as he did, Caduceus recognized the signs. He’d seen it in some of the men who lived in Shady Creek, when Caduceus had been forced to venture there for supplies he couldn’t make himself. Often they weren’t even the most villainous looking ones, doing nothing to broadcast what they were; not the meat heads, and petty thugs and thieves, but different. Something about them always had the same look.

Like all Killers, this unassuming beggar had death in his shadow.

He looked like little enough: covered in dirt from head to toe, unshaven, with deep bags under his eyes. And something broken in his face, more torn and dirty than his clothes were. But the outer appearance didn’t matter. The Look, was still the same. Furtive and deceiving, melting into the walls, and easy to forget. Afterwards you didn’t remember the face, but couldn’t shake the memory of something else, an undefinable chill that settled in your stomach when you got too close and scented something dangerous.

He needed forgiveness, Caduceus realized. Permission grieve, to mourn, even if he’d made the blood on his hands himself.

Because really...they all had blood on their hands, in one form or another. Literally, in the case of that aggressive human woman. Or, if not the signs itself, still a fire in the eyes that said blood on her hands wouldn’t stop her, in the case of the nice firbolg mother. Caduceus realized now, as they waited for him with obvious restlessness...they were grieving yes, but they were in a hurry too, on a mission. They had places to be.

Destiny.

Caduceus pulled up short, startled and blinking at the flowers in his hands. He’d wondered what felt so different about this meeting, why he felt so out of place in his own home, unsure of himself for the first time in seasons. It was purpose, he realized. Something teetering on the edge, just waiting for Caduceus to push, so it could topple over the line into something...new...

The breeze surged against his back for half a moment, curling around him like a bodiless embrace. It pushed him, pushed the balance, pushed the world. And one of the blooms was ripped from his cupping hands, taken by the wind and drifting for a moment, before it landed in the grass and he bent to pick it up.

East.

He was going east. It was time. No more waiting. As he’d advised Talvi, it was time to take himself at his word, and move before the world moved around him. It was getting too small here, and that meant finding somewhere bigger. Finding destiny...and whatever the Wildmother had waiting for him to the east.

So Caduceus carefully cupped his blooms, returning with his last harvest taken from the garden, to prepare a last cup of tea with his beloved little kettle. Because they were in a hurry yes. They had a destiny to meet yes. And yes, he would be going with these strangers to find it, but well...

A little tea never hurt anybody...


End file.
